


Tiny Stitches, Done By Hand

by letters_of_stars



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, I like that that's an established tag, Peter B. Parker Needs a Hug, gratuitous whump, what if Peter B. just...suffers more?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 21:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17968013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letters_of_stars/pseuds/letters_of_stars
Summary: Peter B. had been prepared to die in this world. Still, when Doc Ock keeps him from reaching the portal home on time, it feels like an awful lot has been snatched away. So, what is he supposed to do now, just wait for death? Actually, that might be all hecando now. Great.Maybe there's a bit of last minute teaching he can squeeze in. Some family bonding. Personal growth moments.It still sucks.





	Tiny Stitches, Done By Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a continuation of [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17307569) where a few people commented on how it would be interesting to see how Peter B. would react to not being able to go home for real.  
> Of course, I love Peter way too much for him to actually die (spoiler alert), but it was definitely fun to play with dynamics that could be explored and conversations that might have happened.  
> In other words, I am overly invested in this character and love him and wanted to write more of him!!! Getting loved! With some hurt/comfort. This is just a long gross self-indulgent fic so! Here we are.

“How do I know I’m not gonna mess it up again?” 

It’s a desperate question, thrown out  last minute to someone who shouldn’t have a clue how to answer it. 

Miles replies anyway. “You won’t.”

Even with the world falling apart around them, Peter can’t help but smile as he gets it, understands the answer he’s been given, and Miles grins back at him. Cocky kid, getting the jump on him like that. And now waiting for him to parrot his own words back. Cocky kid, and Peter loves him in this weird impossible way he never would have imagined at that first meeting when Miles jolted him halfway across a cemetery. 

The kid is practically glowing from the inside out, and there is no doubt in Peter’s mind that Miles is the new Spiderman. The new Spiderman, who wants to send Peter home. 

How does he know he won’t mess it up again? He doesn’t. But—

Peter repeats the words back, soft, mostly just for himself. “Right. It’s a leap of faith.” Just like all the other really important things. Well, time to take his own advice. He relaxes his hands and lets his arms dangle. He’s ready to go home. 

Miles lets go of his suit. Peter lets himself fall. 

Neither of them are expecting the claw that comes snaking out of nowhere. “Going somewhere?” Doc Ock asks as she drags herself over a nearby edge, looking significantly worse for the wear after being hit by an 18-wheeler. One of her mechanical arms trails behind her, sparking and spasming and behaving generally completely busted. Peter is personally more worried about the claw clutched tight around his throat. He reaches up with frantic hands, trying to pry himself free as he feels the portal trying to suck him down, send him home, but instead he’s whipped to the left and slammed into the side of a skyscraper rising up out of nothing. Glass shatters. Stone cracks. So do a couple of his bones. 

“Peter!” He can hear Miles shouting for him, but he has to tune it out for now. He catches a sliver of glass, feels it bite into his hand, and stabs it into the mechanical arm. The whole thing hisses air and convulses out of control, slamming him into the skyscraper a few more times for good measure before he can wrestle his neck from her grasp and escape inside one of the smashed windows and hide behind a desk. His head pounds from lack of oxygen and the constantly shifting and flashing landscape isn’t helping. Peter slips the mask back over his face and tries to figure out what broke. Definitely a rib. Maybe a few fingers on his left hand. That’s not so bad. He runs back over to the window and takes a few seconds to figure out where he is. The skyscraper has grown and Miles is just a tiny figure down below, fighting off Doc Ock on his own, who is lurid green in the light of the portal beneath them. The portal. Home. He has to get there. Peter throws his arm out to web over to a floating stop sign, which is how he realizes he also has a dislocated shoulder. Crap. He falls again, this time not on purpose, and manages to catch himself on the side of a bus roaring past into the sky. He cradles his right arm in close and dashes along the top of several cars speeding to the ceiling, heading for Miles and the portal. Miles is doing a fair job of fighting off the good doctor on his own, but if there’s something Peter hadn’t included in his intro to being a superhero handbook, it’s the importance of stamina. The Doc Ock of his own world can spar for what seems like ages, and Peter had nearly died a few times from putting all his energy into the beginning of the fight just to have Octavius do some jerk-ass move like start tossing hostages left, right, and center. Guts can only get you so far, and this Doc Ock is coming back from being steamrolled by a truck. 

And then Peter’s eye catches the looming black mass approaching from the control booth. Oh yeah, Kingpin. Still there, still huge and hulking and a problem. Steadily getting closer too. Dammit. Peter had forgotten about him for a minute. 

Well, nothing for it. Peter hurls himself off a produce truck and dives towards where Miles and Octavius are battling it out. He catches a few tentacles as he goes whizzing past them both. With a strangled yell of outrage, Doc Ock is dragged away from the fight, away from the portal, and away from Miles, into empty air. She and Peter exchange a few mid-flight punches, just standard villain fight stuff, all tangled up together in her extra appendages. God, that gets old real fast, the whole you-punch I-punch thing and the way it always seems to go in slow-mo. The slanted roof of a sandwich shop on its way skywards stops their fall, and yep, there goes another rib. Peter still has tentacles wrapped all around them, but one is the broken one, and he yanks on it hard to introduce Ock’s face to his foot, quick while she’s still recovering from the fall. 

“Miles!” he yells, and then strips the mask away again. “Miles!” 

“Peter!” comes the faint reply over the sounds of chaos, and then the kid is there, perched on the side of a nearby building. He crawls along it to keep up as the sandwich shop spirals off to one side. “Peter, are you—?” 

“Kingpin!” Peter jabs a finger up at where he can still make out the massive form venturing out into the madness the collider is creating. “You gotta—” And then tentacles are coiling around his throat and he is just  _ so _ done with this day. 

“Peter!” he hears Miles call again from his rapidly disappearing perch, but Peter’s attention is pretty much eaten up by Doc Ock returning to full consciousness. The coils around him tighten like a boa constrictor and Spiderman is very much on the menu. 

“Peter, Peter, Peter!” Octavius jeers as she rights herself, goggles cracked and blood from her nose smeared over her lips and chin. “What will you do, Peter?” Tighter, tighter. 

It’s really going to suck dying like this. 

“I admit I’m disappointed,” Doc Ock coos as the tentacles drag him across the roof to her. “You made this rather easy.” One of her claws transforms into a buzzsaw, way too close for comfort. “The other Spiderman was  _ much _ more difficult to kill.”

“Shut _ up _ !” A blur of black and red and Doc Ock goes sprawling down off the sandwich shop roof. Which means Peter goes with her because that’s just his luck. He manages to grab the edge of the roof with his good arm and hold on while Doc Ock dangles beneath him by her tentacles. She seems truly out this time around. That gives them a little bit of time. Peter tries testing the other arm to see if he can pull himself back onto the roof. Nope, bad idea, shoulder still just as dislocated. And then, right when it’s the worst timing imaginable, he glitches. His grip slips. The weight of Octavius pulls him downwards as his body is still piecing itself back together. But a gloved hand snatches his own and Peter can hear Miles’ breath catch a little as he takes the full weight of both him and Ock. But the kid pulls through, having super strength and all. He grips Peter’s good arm tight and leans over the sandwich shop roof as he holds himself steady, mask pushed up and face still pale with what Peter can recognize as rage. 

_ The other Spiderman was much more difficult to kill _ . 

“Miles, you have to turn it off,” Peter croaks, even more weight trying to crush his throat closed now. The colors are growing more lurid, the fake city rising around them that much more chaotic. The world is really truly going to end soon if this damn machine doesn’t turn off. But Miles just shakes his head. 

“You have to go home! You go home, I turn it off! That was the deal!” 

It was. For a few seconds, falling backwards, Peter had really thought he was heading home. But there’s no time. 

“Just shut it down.” He lets Miles haul him over the edge and tries to break free of Doc Ock’s hold so she can just fall away, but even with their master concussed, the damn tentacles refuse to be pried off. “Miles?” 

Miles had seemed so calm just moments ago. So mature. Now he’s jittery, yanking uselessly at the tentacles and straining his neck to watch the realities clash all around them. 

“Miles!” Peter snaps, and that gets his attention at least. “You need to turn it off. I’ll deal with Octavius.”

But you have to go home. That’s what Miles wants to say. Peter knows, and cuts him off before he can start. “I’ll head for the portal and try to get out of here before you shut this place down,” Peter half-lies, and jerks his head. “Go. You got this.” 

Their eyes catch. Peter holds the contact for a few seconds, waiting for Miles to calm down. “You got this,” he repeats, and Miles nods firmly before slipping the mask on and leaping back into the fray. Within seconds he’s out of sight, everything growing and sprouting and fading into existence in flashes of color and spasms of unreality. And at the center? The way home. But Peter doesn’t think he’ll be reaching it, and even if he did, he’s worried about bringing Doc Ock too close, not while the machine is still running hot. She was already way too close for comfort earlier when fighting Miles. Because from what he can gather, it just took a few seconds of Peter Parker being thrust into the collider beam to bring multiple spider people to this dimension, and this whole mess is because Kingpin thinks he can drag a new family to this world using a strand of hair. So what if Doc Ock got exposed to the beam, what then? What the hell would he be leaving for Miles, if multiple versions of Octavius appeared in this world while Peter returned safely to his? 

A sudden liveliness to the tentacles tells him that the Doc woke up. It’s the most he can do to keep her away from Miles and the collider. Trust Miles to get the job done. 

So Peter turns and flings himself over the edge of the sandwich shop, just in time to smash into Doc Ock as she rises up to the rooftop. They go down again in a spin of punches and kicks and too many limbs, bouncing between buildings like a pinball machine, and Peter knows this fight. He’s done it so many times with his own Doc Ock. It doesn’t make the fight any easier, but at least he knows it. He can predict her movies, but she can predict his, and they dance all through the flashing city, swinging on webs and mechanical arms and trading punches like currency. The multiple realities rise around them as they dance along streetlights and chase each other across clashing skyscrapers. There’s no witty banter. No breath for it. And it’s way too noisy anyways. Is that Brooklyn Bridge rising out of nothing? For a second Peter thinks he sees Miles, but a claw jabs at his broken ribs and it’s back into the fight. Trust Miles. Trust Miles. Peter dodges a subway as it roars past and watches it whip through the heated air like a snake before Doc Ock claims his attention once more. He can’t see Kingpin anywhere. 

The portal calls for him. Every inch of him, every single molecule, aches to dive into that welcoming glow and return home. Now that he’s had those few seconds of thinking that home was going to happen, he wants it so badly it aches. Even if home sort of sucks right now, he wants to be back. He doesn’t want to die in this dimension, not really. But he can’t risk leaving a newbie Spiderman, no matter how much he believes in Miles, fighting off two of Spiderman’s most dangerous enemies, not both at once. And he can’t let Doc Ock near that collider. So he ignores the pull and keeps fighting, blow for blow for blow and he can tell that things are getting even weirder, but he and Doc Ock just slip through an open doorway and continue to tussle all the way up the stairs of an apartment building, even as the bricks that make up the walls begin to burst apart. And Miles had really better shut that portal down soon because—

What was that bang? It didn’t sound good. Very...final. 

Peter slugs Doc Ock in the broken goggles once more with his good arm and tosses himself over the railing as she cries out, the glass shattering into her eyes. He jumps up the buildings, eyes scanning everywhere. Miles, Miles, where is Miles? Wait, is this what being a dad does to you? Do you get super extra attuned to the comings and goings of your offspring? This is even weirder than spider sense.

Electricity sparks across the ceiling. There! Got him, got him, got him. Peter slings up to get a better look. And there’s Miles, outdoing every expectation placed upon him, proving the other spider people wrong, proving  _ Peter _ wrong, and boy, has Peter ever been so happy to be an idiot. Miles, catching Kingpin in his web as the remnants of electricity still spark blue, and Peter knows—he  _ knows _ —that what comes next is the super snarky line and the final hit and this collider is going to be toast. There’s no time to say goodbye, even though he wants to crush Miles to him and tell him just how proud he is. He thinks Miles knows it anyways. Now, if he can just do that superhero thing and make it with just a few seconds to spare. That’s how it always works, right? The little bit of time before everyone dies. His best work. 

Doc Ock seems down for the count so Peter slings off between crashing skyscrapers and rising bridges, closer to the source of light that is home. He can make it, he can make it, he can make—

He doesn’t see the bus coming. Should have looked both ways before crossing the multiverse.

Miles tosses Kingpin high. 

The green button is pushed. 

And then everything is chaos. Just...chaos. 

And the way home disappears. 

 

* * *

 

Peter wakes up on a rooftop two streets over. He’s still smoking in places, and his suit is burnt through all up one side. But never mind him. 

Miles. 

He ignores the broken ribs and the hand and the dislocated shoulder and the various cuts and bruises he’d obtained from Octavius in favor of slinging awkwardly between the buildings to see what the damage is. Oh. There’s Miles. Thank God. Talking to one of the police officers. He seems alright, from what Peter can tell from here. Sure hugs the police officer enthusiastically enough. (What the hell?) And then struts off through the crowd just fine. Peter will give him that one. He did good.

And there’s Kingpin, all strung up in the spider’s web, hanging there for all the world to see. 

Peter has to admit it. Kid’s got style.

 

* * *

 

Peter waits for the cops to pull out before he slinks around the surrounding streets, searching for a trace of Doc Ock, but either she’s in the wind, or got blown into such itsy bitsy pieces he can’t find a trace. Probably the first one. Well, that’s a tomorrow problem. A today problem is where the hell he’s supposed to go now, when home is no longer an option. Peter slumps against an alley wall and pops the shoulder back into place with a hiss of pain. Well, nothing can be as bad as the broken back. Already he can feel his cuts scabbing over, his burns disappearing, and his ribs knitting back together. Thank you super healing. 

Well, he doesn’t have an apartment of his own in this world. So he’s going to have to suck it up and go back to Aunt May. See the sadness in her eyes when she realizes what it means to have him back on her doorstep. 

Complete cellular decay and an agonizing death. Well, an hour ago he was determined to be the one who stayed behind. Why should he feel different now?

Because for a few moments, he saw all of Miles’ potential bursting out the seams and he was able to fall knowing he wasn’t leaving Spiderman to die. He was leaving Spiderman to be reborn. For a few moments, he was willing to take that leap of faith. But now he won’t even get the chance to screw it all up again, because he’s never going home. 

See? This is what happens when he expects good things to happen, even if just for a few seconds. It all gets thrown back in his face. 

There’s a secondhand shop a few blocks down, and the owner doesn’t blink at a man walking in with the full Spiderman outfit on. There’s been enough of those around lately. Of course, Peter doesn’t have any money tucked away in the suit, but the shop owner must take pity on him—beat to hell and still smoking slightly—because she lets him take the moth-eaten trench coat without payment. Peter does the coat up top to bottom and tucks his mask away. He doesn’t feel like swinging  his way to Aunt May’s right now, like some triumphant hero. He’ll trudge his way there, like a loser. 

And the walk will give him time to think. 

Thing to think about number one: He wonders how long it will take the J. Jonah Jameson of his world to run triumphant headlines about the disappearance of Spiderman. Not long, he bets. 

Thing to think about number two: Will Mary Jane miss him?

Thing to think about number three: Will she try giving him a call, when she learns that Spiderman has disappeared? Will she try visiting the apartment? She’s a resourceful woman and the apartment isn’t exactly high-class security. Did he even bother locking the door? Will she walk in there to the smell of old pizza and wonder where he went? 

Thing to think about number four:  _ Will _ she miss him? 

Thing to think about number five: The Miles Dilemma. The kid is going to be absolute crushed to find out Peter didn’t make it home in time. So Peter could just not let him find that out. On the other hand, that’s sort of a dick move. And if Peter is going to be here a few more days, there might be a few more tips he could pass along. The thing about stamina, for one. The baddies to watch out for. Venom. He means Venom here. And maybe re-emphasize the importance of baby powder. The kid just spray painted his suit black, right? He’s going to be high off fumes for the next week. The least he can do is avoid chafing. 

Last thing to think about: Does he really dare hope that MJ will miss him? 

He walks along with shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his pockets, thoughts twirling around in his head and before he knows it, he’s back in his home neighborhood. And then he’s at Aunt May’s door. He winces. They really did a number on the house, didn’t they? Plywood has been nailed over the holes and the Spidey shrine has grown in size, but roof tiles are scattered on the sidewalk and he knows the inside will be even worse. He breathes in deep before shooting some web at the doorbell. Force of habit. 

Aunt May opens the door and her face just falls. She runs out onto the sidewalk and places her hands aside his face and Peter knows he looks like hell and that she’s trying to count his injuries. “I’m okay, Aunt May,” he says, and shuts his eyes, allows himself the reprieve of her touch. Just a few seconds, where he can steal them. 

“What about Miles?” she asks, and repurposes her hands to tug him up onto the porch and inside. She kicks the door shut and pushes him gently towards the stairs. Upstairs escaped the worst of the damage, if you don’t count the holes in the roof.

Peter has to grin and laugh a little just at the reminder of Kingpin all strung up like an ugly black balloon. “Miles did great. He was fantastic.” 

Aunt May gives him a little more of a persistent push up the stairs. “Then why are you still here?” 

He tries to shrug it off. “I just...didn’t get there fast enough.” 

He risks the glance over his shoulder and yep, there’s the face that says he doesn’t have her fooled for one hot second. He offers his hand—fingers healed now—to help her up the last few steps. “It’s fine, Aunt May. I was prepared to stay behind anyway. Having Miles around to be the new Spiderman is a bonus.” 

She grabs hold of the lapels of the trenchcoat and scowls. “ _ I _ wasn’t prepared for you to stay behind.” 

Well, he is. And he hopes Aunt May is okay with him decaying away in her house because he really doesn’t want to do it in some random alleyway. 

His old bedroom upstairs is not exactly the way he left it because it was never his bedroom and Noir slept here last night anyways. There are pieces of paper all scribbled on with various markers that got left all over the bed. Color was still an elusive mystery last night and probably still is. 

Peter hopes Noir has a good time punching Nazis back in his own black and white world. 

But it’s a bed, and Peter lets Aunt May undo the buttons of the trenchcoat and walk around poking him in various places because he knows it will make her feel better to check for herself that everything has healed. She stops at his one side where the suit has burned away and raises an eyebrow. “I could maybe use a change of clothes,” Peter admits, which is how he ends up in this world’s Peter’s baggiest clothes because no way in hell is he wriggling into one of those muscle shirts that’ll show absolutely everything. The shirt has a coffee shop logo he doesn’t recognize and the blue sweatpants have a hole in the right knee. But they fit. 

Aunt May declares him well enough to eat a decent dinner and disappears back downstairs to make what Peter really hopes is mac and cheese. Please let this world’s Peter have loved mac and cheese. If it’s tofu he’s going to get this whole atom deterioration thing over fast and just combust. 

Oh no. Glitch. 

He bangs his head on the nightside table on the way to the floor, limbs jerking and pieces of his body coming in and out of reality. Which is a really weird feeling he wouldn’t know how to describe to anyone who hasn’t also experienced it. Like that piece of his body just disappears and then comes back all tingling and aching but devoid of sensation all at once, except those pieces can be tiny little cubes of his arms or half his face and he isn’t really sure if he exists or not. Except ten times worse and add the feeling of whole body sneeze and the fact it hurts like hell. And, like he said, you wouldn’t really understand unless you’d glitched yourself. 

He manages to get himself up on the bed and lies there on top of the covers, panting. Okay, ouch. If this is going to become a more frequent thing, he might have to rethink the whole ‘being Miles’ wise mentor for a couple more days’ thing. If he glitches this hard while swinging above New York, he’ll be a delicious red and blue smear on the sidewalk. 

“Peter?” Aunt May’s voice from the doorway. Seconds later, she’s at his side, helping him sit up. He can still feel pieces of himself blinking in and out of existence. Aunt May’s brow creases as her hand stays steady on his back. “This is just going to get worse, isn’t it?” 

Peter nods weakly and casts her a feeble grin. “A fantastic finale to my wreck of a life, huh?” 

Her expression goes from worried to annoyed in .01 seconds. “No dinner for you.” But there’s no real bite to it. Dinner is still totally a go. 

“Is it mac and cheese?” he asks hopefully and she shakes her head with a scoff.

“A nephew of mine arrives home battered and bruised and falling apart at the molecular level? That’s beyond mac and cheese. Pizza delivery is on it’s way.” 

Lord in heaven, he loves this woman.

 

* * *

 

Peter sleeps, and the last of his injuries disappear. He might have some scars, because he could never get away with zero trace of the havoc wreaked upon his body, but he’ll be dead in a few days anyways so whatever. He still wakes up feeling like shit, and groans and pulls the pillow over his face before his super awesome spider senses inform him that there’s someone else in the room. 

He sits bolt upright, and there’s Miles, curled on the corner of the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. He still has his suit on, with mask pushed all the way up, and yes, it’s making Peter feel guilty. “It’s not your fault!” he blurts out before Miles has the chance to say anything at all. Miles opens his mouth as is to reply, then bites down hard on his lip and hides his face in his knees. And Peter feels guilty, guilty, guilty. It’s working. 

“Hey,” he says, voice softer this time, and slips from beneath the blankets so he can shuffle to the end of the bed and settle cross-legged before Miles. His hand sort of automatically gravitates to Miles’ shoulder and he squeezes tight, shaking the kid a little back and forth so he’ll lift his head. “You did so good. You did so,  _ so _ good. I’m so proud of you.” 

Miles lifts his head just a little so his eyes are visible. They look way too watery for someone who saved the multiverse. “You said you’d reach the portal,” he says, accusatory tone. 

“I said I’d try,” Peter corrects immediately, and then shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. “And I did. But I wasn’t fast enough.” Miles just keeps staring at him. Peter sighs and withdraws his hand from Miles’ shoulder so he can cross his arms, fingers tapping nervously. “Look, Miles, I was fully prepared to stay behind anyway. And I couldn’t leave you to fight Octavius  _ and _ Kingpin. You did great kid, but I’ve been fighting off and on with Doc Ock for years and still—” Get my ass handed to me sometimes. “—have trouble staying ahead. If I jumped into that portal knowing I was leaving you behind with those two…” 

He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself. Which is weird because just a few days ago he would have happily jumped into that wormhole and left this world to rot. Now, the thought makes him feel queasy. 

Oh God. Is this one of those personal growth things?

Peter coughs and turns away to hop off the bed. “Anyway, don’t you have school?”

Miles shoots him a Look. “Since when do you care if I’m skipping school? And it’s Saturday.”

Damn, he’d thought that would be an easy escape. Peter sighs and reaches up to flatten what he’s sure is an epic bedhead. “Look, we both know this sucks. It does. And I really did try to reach the portal in time, but I screwed that up and that’s on me. So don’t you start feeling guilty for my mistakes.” 

Or they’ll be sitting here for a very,  _ very _ long time.  

Peter glances over to the dresser where the clock should be, conveniently placed across the room so his teenage self either had to have killer aim with a pillow and face the consequences of needing to buy a new clock, or actually force himself out of bed. But it’s not there. A brief scan of the room tells him the clock is right on the bedside table because this world’s Peter was probably punctual, and that it’s a little past ten. Well, lately he’s been sleeping whole days away, so ten isn’t bad. 

“Have you eaten?” he asks Miles, and Miles nods. 

“Yeah, my mom made breakfast. But Aunt May’s making pancakes anyways.” 

Bless her soul.

Peter swings his legs off the bed to stretch, feels something click in his back, a something that never healed quite right after he snapped his spine. Well, at least that won’t be bothering him for much longer. Miles watches him, still curled on the bed. And Peter takes the chance to scan Miles up and down, what he can see of him. Kid looks alright. So he has that super healing too. Good. Peter hadn’t been quite certain of that one before. He’d been a little worried Miles might have traded his electroshock or invisibility for something else, something important, but the fact that Miles is just like him and relies on gadgets to create his webs seems to be the only thing. 

Peter crosses one arm across his chest and then the other. Stretching. That’s another thing to remind Miles of. Super powers or no super powers, he’ll be using muscles he never even knew existed. Proper preparation is important. 

“Look, bud,” Peter says, forcing the optimism into his voice. “This isn’t all bad. I’ll be around for a few more days at least. I can try to be a proper mentor this time around. Because there are definitely some things I wish I’d known when I first started this gig that I’d like to pass on.” 

Miles lets his legs slide out flat over the blanket. “Like what?” 

Like what? He’d had a list last night, hadn’t he? But suddenly that list doesn’t feel like enough. 

“Like I really wasn’t kidding about the baby powder,” he replies lamely and reaches over to pluck the mask from Miles’ head before the kid can react. He sniffs experimentally and makes a face. “Have you been inhaling paint fumes all night?”

“I’m used to paint fumes!” Miles protests, and bounces up to claim his mask back. “And I’ll baby powder it when I have time. I just haven’t had the time!” 

Peter gives him a doubtful look. “Alright, well, next thing. You gotta pace yourself. Because I swear some of these villains can keep going for hours and if you spend all your energy in the first few minutes, they will kill you. Got it?” 

Miles tugs his mask onto his head like a cap. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” 

“No.” Peter leans over and grabs Miles’ shoulders, forces their eyes to meet. He doesn’t want Miles to get it. He needs him to  _ understand _ . “Okay, I know I’m not a great teacher. I’m a bad teacher. I’d probably be your last choice and I know that.” Does he ever. “But I’ve been doing the Spiderman thing for twenty-two years, and the only reason I’m alive is because I learned this stuff the hard way. You sanitize the mask because that thing gets nasty real quick and being Spiderman doesn’t prevent you getting sick and you can’t fight villains and influenza at the same time. You baby powder the suit because there’s nothing worse than trying to fight off fifteen bad guys when your arms and legs and other sensitive areas are chafing like mad. You pace yourself because you think you’ve won after just fifteen minutes when Venom gets his second wind and he will  _ kill you _ if you show any weakness. Do you understand? Do you?”

“Peter,” Miles croaks, and Peter realizes just how hard his grip around Miles’ shoulders has gotten, how close his voice had gotten to a shout. He lets go as if burnt and takes a few steps backwards, one hand combing through his hair irritably. He’s not sure who he’s so irritated at. Not Miles, not really. Himself? No, for once that isn’t it. The whole damn situation? Probably. Because Miles won’t get it. Not really. Nothing Peter says will actually prepare him for anything and that’s the worst of it all. Peter is stuck in this dimension to die, and even if he wanted to use his last few days to pass on his words of wisdom, he doesn’t know this world. He doesn’t know if Venom is a threat. He doesn’t know if Harry Osborn will take up the Green Goblin mantle. He’s completely sure that Doc Ock will be making a comeback, but that’s it. What else is there? Don’t read the newspapers because reporters are jerks? Find an actual decent part-time job so you’re never stuck living paycheck to paycheck hating the fact that being Spiderman doesn’t come with a salary? Don’t...do everything that Peter did wrong? 

Miles stares at him with wide eyes, probably waiting for some profound statement that Peter will never be able to give.

Don’t be like me. What sort of pathetic advice is that? But it’s honestly the best he has. 

“Boys!” Aunt May calls from downstairs. “Pancakes!” 

The tension doesn’t disappear, but it retreats for now. “Coming Aunt May!” Miles replies, and slips off the bed. He looks so very small in that suit. Just a kid. Peter wonders if he ever looked that small. 

The pancakes are delicious but they still taste slightly like ash to him.

 

* * *

 

Peter borrows one of his counterpart’s suits and decides to take a few hours to teach Miles a few tricks of web slinging, because that at least he’s pretty confident in. The kid is already great of course, and takes risks that newly-bitten sixteen year old Peter B. would have balked at, but there’s still something to learn about the drawbacks of crumbling brick, how to instantly make webs that will catch falling civilians, and rapid fire web bursts that will be useful against, say, Doc Ock and her many limbs. Peter takes the chance to run through some of the big bads of his own world, just in case, and forces Miles to partake in some stretching on top of a half-built skyscraper because the kid’s muscles will thank him later. He glitches as he tries to work out the kinks in his back and it hurts like hell but he bounces back upright as soon as he can and pretends nothing has happened, and, thankfully, Miles chooses to participate in the charade.

“If you run into Venom, just run, okay?” Peter says as his atoms piece back together. His voice wobbles like a bad radio until he coughs and thumps his chest. “Just run.” Cough cough. Okay, back to business.  “Venom will try to catch you on his turf so you wait until he comes into yours…” Peter pulls one knee close to his chest and holds it there for ten seconds, and waits for Miles to do the same. “Flat ground. Flat ground is the worst. Always lure a fight back to a spot with a lot of places to sling to and a bunch of hidey holes. That’s our advantage. And even if that gives the baddie a lot of places to hide too, the spidey sense almost always kicks in in time.” 

“Almost always?” Miles asks as he pulls his other leg to his chest and holds it. 

Peter stops stretching and pushes his mask up his face. “Yeah, almost.” 

He’s not saying anything more about that. 

“Anyway, avoid flat ground. The city is best, obviously, because you know it so well, but if you have to leave New York, at least make sure you’re in a wooded area. But not pine trees. Can’t swing off those.” He knows from experience.

Miles pushes his mask up as well. “Peter…” 

“Anyways!” Peter cuts him off. “I was thinking you could practice that electroshock on me a little. Since I might be the only person left who can take multiple hits. And I want to test that whole invisibility thing of yours. You can make the suit disappear, so why not objects you’re holding? That would be insanely useful and—”

“Peter,” Miles says more forcefully, and actually tries to catch Peter with a web across the mouth. The nerve. Peter dodges and slings one back. Miles ducks, and they both stare at each other for a long moment before Miles breaks and laughs. Peter rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. 

“What? What is it?” 

Miles stares at him with mouth still turned up in a grin and then he shakes his head and pulls his mask back down. “Nothing.” 

It reminds Peter of another thing. “Hey, Miles?” 

Miles stretches his arms above his head. “Yeah man?” 

“The mask.” Peter plucks at his own, still shoved up to his forehead. “After a while it’s easy to forget you’re wearing it. But people can’t see your face. They...they might not understand when you don’t really mean something you say. And they might not realize when you really mean what you’re saying too.” 

Miles watches him with those huge white eyes vivid against the black paint. “Is this about MJ?” he asks at last. “About...how not everything works out?” 

Peter’s face must be giving away more than he wanted it to. He yanks the mask down. “Okay, I’m going to swing away, and I want you to keep up with me. Use any tricks you can come up with.” 

“Peter—!”

But Peter has already jumped. He feels the air pluck at his limbs, feels the rush of adrenaline as the ground approaches, closer and closer, feels the moment of uncertainty as he casts a web out and realizes that if he glitches now then he’s dead, and then feels the familiar yank at his shoulder as the web catches and he swings off between the skyscrapers. There are the usual cries and shouts from the people on the street below, but it’s been so long that Peter barely registers them. Sometimes they’re being nice, sometimes not. Either way, it doesn’t pay to get distracted.

A little black figure registers in the corner of his eye and Peter grins. Right. He still has a few tricks up his spandex sleeve that only experience can teach. And he shoots off to the left, bounds off a flagpole, and is catching a bus south before Miles realizes he’s still looking in the wrong direction. He hasn’t learned yet to ignore the bystanders. 

Not bad kid. But not yet good enough. 

 

* * *

 

He manages to keep most of them on level ground and secret from Miles, but eventually Peter does glitch mid-swing. He’s only about twenty feet above a rooftop, so it’s a non-lethal glitch, but that doesn’t stop the colorful cursing. Miles still runs to his side while Peter’s atoms are trying to piece themselves back together, and Peter wonders just how weird this must look. He was always too busy also writhing in pain when the other spiderfolk glitched as well. Miles pushes his mask up and Peter can see—when his eyes are in the right dimension—the panic written into every line of his face. Ha, it’s almost like Peter is dying or something. 

He doesn’t make that particular joke out loud. 

Once the worst is over, Miles gets Peter’s arm slung over his shoulder. 

“Caught you,” he says with a forced smirk that doesn’t entirely erase his worry, and Peter laughs breathlessly before flicking the kid on the forehead with a finger. 

“Took you long enough.” 

Maybe if he just acts like this is normal, Miles will buy it. 

They swing low between the alleyways on the way back to Aunt May’s. There are a couple of young girls contributing to the Spiderman shrine out front, so Miles goes invisible while Peter waits for them to leave so he can jump through the bedroom window he left open. Miles is seated downstairs in the kitchen by the time Peter gets dressed, on his second helping of Aunt May’s banana bread. Peter can’t blame him. If memory serves, it’s good banana bread.

He glitches again on the bottom step and bangs his head—again—on the way down. He waves a hand that doesn’t know what reality it wants to be in as both Miles and Aunt May stand up so fast that Miles knocks his chair over. “I’m fine. Don’t get up.”

Aunt May gets up anyway and hurries down the hallway to the stairs while Miles sheepishly picks up his chair. He’s got his hoodie and shorts pulled up over his suit again. The black underneath just blends right in. Incognito. 

Incognito. Funny word. In- _ cog _ -nito. Incog-nito. In- _ cognito _ . Ah, his atoms seem to have settled down. Aunt May is feeling the back of his head where he whacked it against the stairs. No blood. Peter still feels a little woozy though. He sits on the bottom step rather than attempt the voyage to the kitchen table. With his luck he’ll just glitch again and he hates Miles and Aunt May worrying about him. At least the banana bread Aunt May brings him is just as good as he remembered. 

“Well,” Miles says at last, “I should get going. My mom and I have a show we watch together.” He stands and glances around with plate and fork in hand. “Where should I—?”

“I’ll get the dishes,” Aunt May assures him, and takes another sip of coffee. “You go home to your family.” 

Miles nods and skip-hops towards the front door. He stops and turns back to meet Peter’s eyes. “I’ll be back tomorrow?” 

Peter manages a smile. “See ya bud.” 

He and Aunt May are carefully silent until the front door has slammed shut, and then Peter pushes up off his knees to stand and go slump in Miles’ vacated chair at the table.  _ His _ chair, actually. This has always been his chair.  

“How much longer do you have? Roughly?” Aunt May asks, fiddling with her fork. 

Peter shrugs. “No clue. I could die in the night and not even know it. Or...it could be really painful. Do me a favor and tell Miles it wasn’t painful, will you?” 

Aunt May frowns and reaches across the table for his hand. He meets her halfway. “I’m proud of you, Peter,” she says softly and he makes a face. 

“Yeah, I’m taking molecular decay just...so well.” 

She rolls her eyes and squeezes his hand a little harder than necessary. “Not that. Miles.”

“What about Miles?” 

Aunt May raises an eyebrow and then goes to put the dirty dishes in the sink. “Well, for someone who claims that all he does is screw things up, that boy sure looks up to you an awful lot.” 

“I—!” Peter starts, and then goes quiet. He doesn’t actually know how he wants to respond. 

_ I love you. I am so proud of you. _

He just wishes he could give Miles more. 

“Your Peter would have done a better job of teaching him,” he says finally. Aunt May’s shoulders slump and he immediately feels guilty about bringing the other Peter up. 

“But he isn’t here,” she says at last, “So Miles gets you. And I don’t think he’d want to trade you in for anyone.” 

Ehhh, they can agree to disagree on that one. 

“And you care about him,” Aunt May continues, and turns around to face him again, hands gripping at the counter. “I know…” She sighs. “I know that things haven’t worked out in your world. I think I can guess which ones they are. But the way you act towards Miles, that works out. You’re not screwing it up.” 

Peter studies the little pieces of fine china Aunt May hadn’t managed to clean up, stuck along the very corner between floor and wall. He should help with that. Also maybe with patching up the holes in the house a little better. He hopes Aunt May has killer insurance. 

“Peter, did you hear me?” 

He nods, and then sticks out a hand. He doesn’t want to have this conversation anymore. “Here. Give me your phone. I’ve never set up a dating profile but it can’t be that hard, right?” 

Not screwing that one up, huh? God, he hopes so. Because it turns out he absolutely can  _ not _ set up a dating profile.

 

* * *

 

Normally sleep is a sweet release to forgetting all his problems, but Peter spends the night flipping the pillow around to find the cool side, throwing off blankets, pulling them back on, turning around in different positions just to try to find goddamn peace, glitching randomly, and finally he gives up. He stares moodily out the window into the backyard. He’d heard Aunt May go in the shed earlier, and she hasn’t come out yet, unless he missed it in all his tossing and turning. It’s past two at this point. Maybe he’ll just go check on her. 

Peter pulls on a sweater to go with the sloppy t-shirt and sweatpants and opens the bedroom door so he can head for the stairs. He frowns and backtracks a little when he hears the small sounds of breathing coming from Aunt May’s bedroom. Oh. She’s back. And asleep. But he’s up now and might as well do something other than lay there and wish for sleep. And the shed is just as good a place as any to waste time, he guesses. Peter slinks down the stairs and slips on his sneakers at the back door. The night air is frigid and there’s a new layer of snow on the ground he hadn’t noticed falling. He crosses the lawn, strangely aware of the marks his shoes make in the snow.

The door of the shed opens at the very proximity of his hand which sends a shiver up his spine that has nothing to do with spider senses. Peter blinks against the glaring white light, and then steps inside the shed.The door closes before him as the platform beneath his feet begins to descend. 

Blah blah blah. Nice car. Nice bike. Nice everything. Except that Peter is dead so he can’t feel too jealous. 

There’s the row of protected suits, one with a cape, one missing because Miles snatched it up, another missing because Peter needed it for today. Peter steps off the platform before it’s all the way down and trips a little walking over to the display. How is he supposed to look at everything that this Peter Parker was and not feel so very very small by comparison?

He doesn’t notice the shiver in his spine turning into actual spider sense until it’s too late. He whirls around to see who else is in the lair with him when—fuck—he glitches. Peter hits the floor with a solid thud and spends the next thirty seconds alternating between intense pain and not existing. He’s only vaguely aware of the hands hauling him off the floor and onto something soft. Could be Aunt May, could be Doc Ock for all he knows. What he does know is that these glitches are going for longer, they’re getting more painful, and soon one of them is going to kill him. 

Actually, he’s pretty sure they have killed him. There are warm hands on his face, pushing the hair from his forehead and rubbing soothingly down his cheek. Peter opens one eye, and then dares to do two. “MJ?” he croaks, and reaches up to make sure her face is actually there and this isn’t an illusion. Her cheek is supple beneath his touch. She’s there. She’s there and he’s in her lap and her hands are on his face and this is the  _ wrong _ MJ. Peter can feel her trying to grapple him back down the moment he moves to bolt, but he’s scooted himself across the floor pretty damn fast and sits there staring at her with chest heaving. Same hair. Same eyes. Same freckles. Oh God, it aches to think about how much he’s going to end up hurting her.

The wrong MJ purses her lips and then quietly asks, “Peter?”

“No,” Peter answers, way too fast. “No. Not Peter. Definitely not—” Oh shut up. 

MJ stares at him for a moment, still seated on the floor with legs bent beneath her, and then her eyes narrow and she says, “Say the word ‘bread’ for me, would you?” 

Dammit. Peter straightens up and crosses his legs, generally tries to look less like a hounded animal. “Look, I know this...is really weird, but I’m not…”

“Really a waiter. Yes, I gathered that.” And she smiles. And that smile. How the hell did he let her slip away? Why the hell hadn’t he tried harder? To give her all the..the...ah, screw it, he already has the metaphor going—all the  _ bread _ she deserved? Been there when she needed him to be, learned how to listen, learned how to  _ really _ listen so he knew what she meant instead of what she was just saying, been a little less stupid, a little less selfish, a little bit more than what he was…?

He had been really spectacularly stupid at times, hadn’t he? 

“What are you doing here?” he asks at last, and MJ glances around the room, shrinking a little into herself. 

“I...thought I might feel closer to him here. I have a key.” That’s when Peter notices the framed picture of MJ, on the ground a few feet from her. She draws her knees to her chest and hugs her arms around them. “And now it turns out Wilson Fisk was the one who killed Peter and Aunt May won’t tell me what happened and so I came here to try to feel a little bit better and here you are. Peter.” 

Oh boy. “I’m not Peter, okay?”

“Then why do you look like him?” 

“I don’t! I’m old! With brown hair! And brown eyes! Absolutely nothing alike!” He’s probably protesting too much. Peter shuts his mouth before he can do more damage and tries to lean to the side so his face is in shadow. Why in the world did he have to look like this world’s Peter if they were such different people?

MJ scowls and hugs her legs just a little bit closer. She’s wearing sweatpants too, Peter notices. It’s really endearing. “Peter was never good at clearing his browser history. Are you like that too?” 

Crap. 

“Something about parallel dimensions?” MJ prompts, and Peter groans before giving up completely and flopping onto the floor. He can hear her stand up and walk over so she stands above him, hands on hips and obviously awaiting a good explanation. She looks so beautiful, hair pulled back into a messy bun and dressed in sweats and a flannel. He wishes her eyes weren’t so red and the shadows beneath them weren’t quite so pronounced because he would have done anything to keep any MJ in any dimension from crying. Except in his own dimension, of course, because he sucks. But this MJ doesn’t look like she’ll be leaving without some answers. Peter waves an idle hand. 

“You really want to know?” 

“It got my husband murdered. Yes, I want to know.” She leans down and offers a hand. “Don’t just lie there. Or are you going to...do that weird thing with your body again?” 

Peter considers her hand for a moment before taking it as lightly as he can and letting her help him up to his feet. He lets go quickly. It’s weird, touching her, in a way he can’t even explain to himself. “It’s...I think of it as glitching. I’m in the wrong dimension and my atoms don’t like it.” 

“Okay, well, there’s some chairs over here and a Korig.” 

Keurig, he wants to correct her, but whatever. There are too many weird little changes between this world and his own. Like when they were at the burger place and he ordered a simple Dr Pepper. No freakin clue what he was talking about. A soda called Mr Mustard, give him a break. 

The Korig makes a really crappy cup of coffee, so at least that’s the same. MJ studies him over her drink, swivelling a little back and forth in her chair. Anxious for him to start talking. Finally, Peter sets his half-finished cup aside and rubs at his forehead, trying to think how to explain this best. “This will...probably be easiest if you save all the questions until the end.” 

MJ nods, and Peter takes a shaky breath before he starts. Where does he start? Maybe the beginning would be best. “Um...so my name is Peter  _ B _ . Parker. And I’m from...I’m from a parallel dimension. When I was sixteen, I was bitten by a radioactive spider…” 

MJ listens to the whole thing, occasionally taking a drink of coffee, occasionally frowning, and occasionally staring at Peter with an expression he can’t decipher. He leaves out some of the minor details. Like that he and his MJ split up. And maybe skims a little over how much of a general jackass he’d been when he and Miles first met. But she gets the gist.

“So, Miles destroyed the collider before I could hop in the portal home aaaand...I’m here now.” Peter shrugs and studies the various spider suits. He still can’t believe that one has a cape. “I can’t get home anymore, and the glitching is getting worse which probably means my cells are decaying quickly, but it’s fine.” Seriously, what the hell sort of emo phases did this Spiderman go through? “I can spend a little more time helping Miles adjust, and...die, I guess. But it’s fine. It’s—”

“Part of the job,” MJ says together with him, and his eyes return to her face. She smiles ruefully. “I know that one.” 

They sit in mutual silence and, for Peter, partial discomfort. “So, any questions?” he asks at last. 

“Well, yes, a lot, but…” MJ puts her empty mug back beneath the Korig and makes herself another drink. “I guess most of the big things are explained. I’m curious about these other dimensions though. You said that Spider...Noir? Spider Noir? His world is entirely black and white?” 

Peter laughs a little and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, one of the versions of me was an animated pig. It has been a really weird last couple of days.” 

MJ retrieves her mug and takes a tiny sip of her new cup of coffee. Frowns. “And you’re just fine with dying?” 

He sighs and gives a massive shrug. “Well, it’s not  _ ideal _ . But it’s better to accept it.” 

“What about the me in your world though?” MJ’s eyebrows knit with concern and it’s so familiar and so cute. “Won’t she miss you?” 

Oh dear. “Well, um…” 

Her eyes go wide and she puts the coffee on the table. “Am I dead in your world?” 

“No! No, no, no...that’s…” Dammit. Peter crosses his arms petulantly and spins his chair so she can’t see his face. “It’s just…” It’s just  _ what _ , Peter? “Did you know seahorses mate for life?” 

He’s awful at this. 

MJ probably thinks so too, because it takes her a long time to answer. “No, I didn’t know that.” 

Peter covers his eyes with a hand and slumps in the chair. “Well, sometimes humans don’t do that so well.” 

She gets it. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, and bends over so he can completely hide his face in his hands. Freakin seahorses. Why did he have to be bitten by a spider when he could have been bitten by a seahorse? Forget walking up walls, he could have saved his marriage. 

He can hear the wheels of MJ’s chair as she rolls herself across the floor, and then her hand is on his shoulders, patting awkwardly, probably still remembering how cautious he’s been to touch her. “She still misses you,” MJ says, and Peter turns his face to study her expression. It’s still so sad, but earnest. 

“I hurt her,” he says softly. “I didn’t...try.” 

MJ smiles in that heartbroken way. “Speaking as someone who lost her Peter, I’m pretty sure she misses you. And wouldn’t want you dying alone in some other dimension.” 

Peter closes his eyes and breathes in and out a few times before he sits up straight in the chair. “This is weird. You and me talking.” 

MJ nods. “I think alternate dimensions are generally pretty strange. But this might be a good opportunity for both of us, you know?” 

“I do?” 

She reaches out and squeezes his hand in both of hers, so soft and delicate. He can’t help it. He slides his chair further away. Her hands slip from his and she quickly gathers them back into her lap. Her fingers lace together as she speaks to the floor. “I know I’m the wrong Mary Jane, but I’m still Mary Jane. And you’re the wrong Peter, but you’re definitely still Peter. Maybe we can...just talk, and things will hurt a little less.” 

He seriously doubts that, but at the same time, if it will help her at all...okay. “What do you want to talk about?” 

She blinks and lifts her face, probably surprised he agreed so easily, and then bites at her bottom lip before asking softly, “Anything, I guess. I’d like to get to know you a little bit.” 

“Your Peter and I didn’t have much in common,” he warns. “The...face, I guess. And the Spiderman thing. But not much else.” 

She smiles a little brighter. “Then that’s a good reason to get to know you.” 

He’s so weak for that smile. He sighs, mostly at himself, and pauses for a moment before agreeing. “Okay.” 

So...he tells her. Again. Except this time it’s not about parallel universes or a super collider. It’s not even about Spiderman. It’s about 80s rock and burger joints and favorite days of the week. It’s stupid stories about his landlord. MJ pulls her legs up and sits cross-legged in her chair, laughing as he relates the nightmare that was his last part-time job and how he had to explain how he—a totally normal non-Spiderman citizen—had been hit in the face by a drone. It’s about the total lemon of a car he’d bought for what he should have known was too good a price. 

And then, somehow, it’s how his Mary Jane had quietly brought up the idea of maybe they could invest in a family car. 

“Do you have kids?” this MJ asks, tilting her head to one side. 

Peter draws one knee up to his chest, sneaker digging into the chair cushion. He shakes his head. “I...I think that was what sealed the deal. She wanted kids and I…” He coughs and looks over at her. “What about you? You and Peter ever think about kids?”

MJ laughs a little breathlessly. “What? With our student loans still to pay off? But I guess we never really talked about it. Not yet.” 

“But...would you…?” He really shouldn’t pry like this. But MJ doesn’t seem to mind. She turns her head to stare at the row of Spiderman suits. 

“I think…” she says at last, “I think that Peter was always worried about having more to lose.” 

Yeah. That sounds...that sounds familiar. 

“What about you?” MJ asks, turning back to face him. Her eyebrows are knitted together and, after a brief period of chewing on the inside of her cheek, she holds a hand back out. There to take, if he accepts the offer.

What about him? Well, Peter, what about you? What was the reason? What made it all fall apart?

Why is he so afraid to touch her?

Peter’s hand trembles in the air for a moment before he lets it land in her warm hold. And a brief stroke of her fingers is all it takes to squeeze the truth out. “I...I’m scared.” There. The word is out in the open, after being kept shut in for so long. She strokes a thumb across his fingers again. Peter waits for some sort of cosmic disturbance that should accompany a superhero saying something so pathetic, but it doesn’t come. And Mary Jane smiles when he meets her eyes. It’s so easy to talk with her, this other MJ who was never his. She still listens the same, understands him the same, and he wonders why he never tried this with his own wife. Just sitting down and telling her straight, taking her hand to have the courage to tell the truth. Because he was also scared of that too, he supposes. And Spiderman isn’t allowed to be scared. 

Peter, though? Peter is scared. “It wasn’t just...well, it’s a baby, you know?” He waves his free hand through the air erratically. “They’re just like...potatoes.” Wow, that came out right. “Very breakable potatoes.”

“Potatoes?” MJ repeats, and he can hear the smile in her voice. He sighs and pulls his hand free so he can rub at his temples. He misses her warmth immediately.

“Yes, potatoes. You’re all...potatoes. Aunt May, Mary Jane, this hypothetical baby—potatoes. That I have to somehow keep safe.” He scowls. “A whole huge city full of potatoes I’m somehow supposed to keep safe. But you can’t always keep everyone safe, you know?” And then you have dead potato all over your hands and people are crying and others are screaming and J. Jonah Jameson is having a field day and how much could they really expect him to do? Maybe New York was expecting just a bit too much from one guy! Saving the city on a daily basis  _ and _ holding down a proper job? Not happening! Of course his resume was a wreck! Of course Spiderman screwed up sometimes. Sometimes (very often) Peter B. Parker screwed up too! Can’t he get a little leeway from time to time? Would that kill anyone, to give him a fucking break?

Yeah, it would, that’s the problem. 

So here he is, not good enough, not good enough, not good enough, and then there’s the one person who was willing to say “I love you anyway” and what did he do? He broke her heart. 

Mary Jane had wanted to start a family. And he’d only looked at that like another disaster waiting to happen. And not just because it would give him someone else to lose, but because he knew he was going to screw it up. How the hell was he supposed to be a dad? He was barely managing being  _ himself _ with Spiderman as a full-time gig. 

“Maybe,” MJ suggests in a soft voice that still has a smile in it, “The first thing would be to stop thinking about people as potatoes.” 

“But it’s not about the potatoes! I...I just can’t be a dad!” Peter stands from his chair so quickly it goes spinning away across the floor. “I didn’t even do husband right!” He throws his hands in the air and walks away, ranting more to himself than to her. “I mean, they’re your kid! What if you mess it up? Then you have a messed up kid!” Pacing, pacing. “And then there’s checkups and schools and parent-teacher conferences and all this shit you need to be on time for and I have enough trouble being on time for the freakin bus! Like, hell, what if I missed her giving birth?” His hands fly to his mouth. “Oh God, that sounds like exactly the sort of thing I would miss.” That would be such a Doc Ock thing, to make him miss his own kid being born. 

“Peter!” MJ calls from her chair. She doesn’t sound like she’s smiling anymore.  

“I’d miss the birth!” he emphasizes, and turns back to her with hands fisted in his hair. “I’d miss it!”

“Peter,” MJ tries again, and rises from her chair to come stand right in front of him. “Stop panicking. You’re not even having a baby, right?” 

Peter stares at her and, after a moment, slowly lowers his hands so they hang limp. “Yeah. No baby.” And there will never be a baby, because he’s going to die here. No parent-teacher conferences. No check-ups. No births. 

Which is good, because he would have screwed it up. He could never do it. He and kids are not a good mix. 

For a few seconds though, when Miles had first appeared out of nothing, wearing the suit that smelled of fresh paint and running on the adrenaline rush of having taken his leap of faith, Peter’s chest had constricted in a completely unfamiliar way and the idea of kids had suddenly seemed like such a no-brainer because you could have kids and they could be amazing and brave and inspiring and it was so much better to have accepted them into your life and live with the fear of losing them than never having them at all. And he’d screwed up with Miles. He’d been a complete jerk for a while there. But Miles was still there on the end of the bed this morning, waiting for Peter to wake up. 

The first time they met, Peter had been willing to let Miles’ entire world collapse so he could escape back to his crummy apartment, and now he’s going to die here because he couldn’t let Miles take on too much on his own. 

Is this another one of those personal growth moments?

“Maybe a baby would have been nice,” he whispers. He shuts his eyes. “If I could do a better job at the husband thing.” 

He feels MJ cups his face in her hands. The same face as her Peter. Just a little older. He wonders if it feels about the same to her or if the stubble throws it off. “I guess I can’t really speak for an MJ that isn’t me,” she says softly, calmly. Lovingly. “But if my Peter came to me and told me the truth, about being scared? I’d listen to him. Did you ever just tell your MJ the truth?”

About being scared of having one more person that being Spiderman would put at risk? She’d probably guessed that herself. 

The one about how he’s so much more scared of failing to be a dad? Maybe he should have told her that one out loud. It wasn’t about not wanting to take responsibility. It wasn’t about not wanting to start a family with her. It was because he was scared. Scared, scared, scared. And the more he thought about how scared he was, the more debilitating it became. And the more debilitating it became, the more Mary Jane pulled away. Or rather, the more he pulled away from her. Maybe they both pulled away at the same time. And then divorce became this inevitable thing that he was terrified of happening at the same time he drove full speed towards it because once he was on that road it was like there were no other options. Did he want to leave her? Hell no. It was the last thing he wanted. Leaving her wrecked him in a way no broken back or drone to the face ever could. So why hadn’t he tried to stay? Why? 

Maybe because it was easier to just lie down and let life kick him in the ribs rather than try for something and fail. He was so, so terrified of failing to save his marriage that he didn’t even try to save it at all. God, but that’s messed up. And to MJ, it must have looked like he didn’t even care.

Peter opens his eyes and stares at this MJ’s face and misses  _ his _ MJ so hard it’s like he can’t breathe. “But I think I broke her heart,” he whispers. “How would I even…?” He rolls his eyes. Such a stupid idea. “I can’t just show up on her doorstep asking to get back together and have a baby while we’re at it!” 

“Call her,” MJ orders, tone still soft, and her touch brings his attention back to her. “Call her and say you want to talk. I think she’ll want to. And then go talk. Maybe bring some flowers. I like flowers. And then, Peter B. Parker—” She leans up on her toes and kisses his cheek before smiling and stepping away, hands slipping from his face. “—you tell her the truth. About everything. That’s part of what being a good husband has to be, especially when you’re also being Spiderman.”

Peter frowns. “That sounds way too simple to work.” 

“Well, the last time your life was simple was before you got bit.” MJ clasps her hands behind her back and grins. “Couldn’t you use something simple now and again?”

This woman. Peter stares at her and can’t stop the half smile from creeping onto his face. “I guess so.” 

Glitch. 

Pain. Pain is remarkably simple. So is the reminder that he’ll never get the chance to see his MJ again, give her a call, say he’s sorry, tell her the truth. He’s going to die in another dimension and none of his good intentions matter. 

She won’t even know what happened to him. 

The other MJ helps him up off the floor when it’s over. “Come on. You look exhausted. Let’s get you back in the house.” 

He’s going to die here and she’ll never know. 

“I don’t have a plane,” he mumbles on the ride back up through the basement as they pass by each of the various blue and red gadgets. His knees keep trying to give out on him and Mary Jane keeps a steadying hand on his chest. “Or a bike. Or a car. I mean, a Spiderman car. I don’t have a cool shed either.”

“I don’t think it matters very much at this point,” MJ replies with a small sigh, and then the platform jolts into place and the shed door opens before them, leaving only a little yellow bulb of the back lamp for light. “Let’s just get inside before you glitch again.” 

His footprints in the snow from earlier are still there, frosting over. MJ grabs his arm and slings it over her shoulders. “Come on.” They make it a few steps out onto the lawn before she stops. “You’re heavy,” she says, and Peter groans. 

“I knew it was only time before you’d say it too.” 

“Say what?” 

He gives her a disparaging look. “That I’m fat.” 

She gives him a disparaging look right back. “You’re not fat.”

“Really? Everyone else seems to think so.” 

MJ tugs on his arm to get them both moving again. “It’s just your body, Peter. It’s fine. Besides…” She glances up at him. “The last few weeks, my Peter was barely eating anything he was so stressed. So I kind of like this look on Peter Parker.”

Somehow, that statement is way more embarrassing than the twenty billion times he’s been called fat in the last few days. Peter feels his face heat up and hopes MJ doesn’t see the blush. “Oh.” And then, because it seems something else is called for, “Thanks.”

“Shh. I don’t want Aunt May to know I’m here.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still figuring out how I feel about her keeping so much from me.” Her expression, when he looks down, is hard and taut, obviously stressed. She must feel his eyes because she sighs. “I can’t believe I went to Wilson Fisk’s charity dinner and she let me go. But I guess it runs in the family. Peter didn’t tell me Wilson Fisk was out to kill him.. So I’m frustrated with both of them.”

Oh. “They were…”

“Just trying to keep me safe, I know.” They reach the back steps and her voice drops to a whisper. “But I meant what I told you. About telling the truth. To be a good husband.  _ And _ a good Spiderman.” She helps him up the step and then slides from under his arm. Smiles. “But this one time, don’t tell the truth to Aunt May?” 

He would do anything for that smile. Peter nods mutely and MJ’s smile softens as she reaches past him to open the back door. “Goodnight, Peter B. Parker.” 

_ Goodnight, Mary Jane Watson _ .

It’s what he should say. What comes out is, “Gh’n.” 

She giggles anyway and waves goodbye as she backs away from the door and heads around the side of the house. Peter smacks himself in the forehead and sneaks inside. He toes off his sneakers and goes to curl up on the torn-up sofa rather than head back upstairs to the bedroom. It’s so unfair, how he’s only realizing now how much he wants to go home. 

Another glitch, but luckily he’s on the sofa and doesn’t crack his head on anything. It just hurts. But it’s enough to put him to sleep afterwards, so at least there’s that.

 

* * *

 

For the second morning in a row, he wakes up to Miles watching over him. Well, not really ‘watching over’. He’s perched on the far arm of the sofa, headphones on and scribbling in a notepad as he nods his head to the beat Peter can just hear. He spins a highlighter between his fingers and hums a little to himself before he glances over and realizes Peter’s awake. He slips the headphones down around his neck and pauses the song. “Oh. Hey man.”

Peter inches into a semi-upright position. He points at the notebook. “Whatcha got there?” 

Miles’ eyes widen and he slams the notebook shut. “Nothing. Just...working on a design.”

Design. Design. Oh. “Your graffiti.” 

Miles sends him a withering look. “Street art.” 

“Street art. Sorry.” Peter swings his legs off the couch and glances around the room. Yup, still a disaster zone. He really needs to help Aunt May clean this place up. Hasn’t he said that already? He needs to mean it this time. “So it’s a big secret? This street art I’m not allowed to see?” 

“No!” Even as he says it, Miles clutches the notebook closer to his chest. At Peter’s raised eyebrow, he looks away and mutters, “Maybe. It’s...personal.” 

Peter nods and stands so he can stretch out his arms properly. And breathe, one, two, three…

“It’s for my uncle!” Miles blurts out, because apparently it’s personal enough to matter. “My uncle Aaron.” 

Ah. The Prowler. That’s a villain Peter hasn’t encountered in his own universe. He’s going to reserve judgement. Miles obviously idolized him, so there must have been something good in him. There had been something good in most of the villains Peter has fought over the years. He tries not to think about Harry here, but it’s hard. There had been a lot of good in Harry Osborn, before it all went to shit. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” he tells Miles without looking back at him, and switches arms. 

Miles is quiet for a beat (And breathe, one, two, three…) before he adds, “My dad has a wall we can use. By the police station.”

Peter has to look back at that. “Right by the police station? Isn’t that risky?” 

Miles just looks confused. “No? Why? My dad’s an officer. Didn’t I tell you that?” 

Had he? Peter can’t remember. He hadn’t really been actually listening the Miles a lot of the time at the beginning. Maybe still a little annoyed over the whole electro-shock/subway ride from hell/being tied to a punching bag thing. But that would explain the weird hug Miles had given a police officer that night. Although the kid might want to be a little more careful about that if he wants to do the whole secret identity thing. 

“...so my dad and I are going to do that this afternoon,” Miles keeps explaining. Whoops. Shouldn’t have tuned out. “But I thought maybe you could work with me on the invisibility thing? Just for a little while?” 

Right. Right. The invisibility thing. Peter stops stretching his arms and listens for other signs of life. “Where’s Aunt May?” 

“Furniture shopping,” Miles answers simply. They both glance down at the sofa, cushions punctured so often they could act as a sieve. Peter clears his throat awkwardly. 

“Right. So, the invisibility thing.” Invisibility is one of those messy ones. Is it actually invisibility or more a camouflage thing? Why could Miles turn his clothes invisible but not the computer? If he’d been holding the computer when he went invisible, would it have disappeared with him? If not, what allowed his clothes to disappear but not something he’s carrying? And, when it comes down to it, what is the actual science behind this? Does light just stop bouncing off his particles? 

When Peter thinks about invisibility too long, it gives him a headache. It’s almost as bad as time travel. 

“Okay, well I guess we can do this here. No suits needed.” He gestures for Miles to get up. “First, let’s really make sure you have this thing on command.” 

An hour into experimentation and Peter begins glitching multiple times in a row, which is enough to put a stop to things before they’ve even really begun. Once he stops twitching pathetically on the floor like a dying cockroach, Peter stares up at the ceiling, chest heaving. “Okay, that’s new. And probably not a good sign.” 

Miles gets him a glass of water.

Once he’s gotten himself safely in a chair, Peter waves Miles away with the most nonchalant grin he can manage. “Go. Do that street art thing. I’ll still be here tomorrow.” He pauses. “Except tomorrow is Monday so you better be at school instead of hanging around here.” 

Miles groans. “Come on, man, I already have a dad to nag me about school.” 

“Hey, you wanted a Spiderman coach. This Spiderman coach didn’t get a Masters in biochemistry by skipping Mondays.” He can’t even say that with a straight face. “Every other day, okay, and maybe the Spiderman thing held me back a few years—” Try fifteen. “—but Mondays are important!” 

“You have a Masters in biochemistry?” The pure disbelief in Miles’ voice is insulting. 

“You think I learned how to make my own webs by messing around?” Peter takes a drink of water and thunks the glass back down on the table. “Kid, I got a whole arsenal of talents you don’t know about. I can sew, I can do my own taxes, I am an excellent photographer, I can...heat things in the microwave, I can watch that movie with the balloon house and  _ not  _ cry…” There, now Miles is smiling again. “I can watch nature documentaries for seven hours straight. And I can get a Masters in biochemistry.” He pauses. “Also, you know, walk up walls and stuff. Can’t make a dating profile though. You might have to help Aunt May with that one.” 

Miles laughs. Peter grins and crosses his arms. “So you let me know when you’re making your own spider suits out of spandex, because it took me a long time to perfect those tiny little stitches. Looks seamless, right? But it isn’t. Days of labor, kid. Done by hand. So pay attention in your home ec classes or you might want to get that cheap costume of yours out again. Maybe remove the price tag before you go swinging through New York.”

Miles shoots him one of those unimpressed faces only teenagers can successfully pull off. “I have a suit. And it’s cool.” 

“Well, don’t cry to me when it gets ripped. Because it  _ will  _ get ripped. And you’ll need those tiny little stitches. Can’t get those things mass produced. Just don’t fit the same. Trust me, I’ve tried.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment before Miles breaks and laughs again. “Okay! Fine, school tomorrow, Mr. Spider Coach, sir.” 

Peter smiles. Raises a hand for Miles to clasp. He squeezes his fingers tight once around the kid’s hand and lets go. “Have fun with your dad.” 

“Yeah.” Miles’ smile grows softer, fonder. “Yeah, I will.” He starts for the door and then turns back with a more anxious expression. “Hey, I can sneak out and come visit you, like, tomorrow night?” 

The longer they can put off that final goodbye they both know is coming, the better. It’s alright. Peter doesn’t know what he wants his last words to Miles to be either. “Yeah. Of course, bud. Just don’t get caught.” 

Miles scoffs. “Please, caught? Spiderman doesn’t get caught.” He pulls the front door open and stands silhouetted against the daylight. Waves. “See ya, Peter.” 

Peter waves back and Miles shuts the door behind him. He hopes he’s still around tomorrow night. Maybe by then he’ll know what sort of final goodbye he wants to say.

He gets caught by another one of those multiple glitch attacks while taking a shower, which he’s eternally grateful no one was around to hear because it involves a lot of swearing and soap in his eyes. The bed is a kind reprieve after that. He curls under the covers and thinks about his conversation with this world’s Mary Jane, about what he wishes he could say to  _ his _ world’s Mary Jane, what the hell he’s supposed to say to Miles, and just how painful his death is going to be. 

Probably really painful, if these latest glitches are any indication. 

He doesn’t actually sleep, so he hears when Aunt May gets home, drops her keys on the table, and comes up the stairs. That, at least, forces him to sit up against the headboard instead of staying in fetal position. 

He smiles weakly when Aunt May pokes her head into the room. She smiles back. “Did Miles leave?”

“Yeah. Spending time with his dad.” 

“How you feeling?” 

No use sugarcoating it. “Awful.” 

“Have you eaten?” 

“Not yet.” 

“You hungry?” 

“Meh.” He is a master of conversation. 

Aunt May comes and pats his leg through the blanket. “Do you want me to throw you a pity party or would you rather I make some early dinner?” 

He’d take both, to be honest. “Mac and cheese?” And then, because he feels like a slug: “I can make it.” 

Making mac and cheese. He hadn’t included that on his list of special talents. It’s rather relaxing to focus on making it. Aunt May sits in the living room, watching reruns of old tv shows with names just slightly wrong. 

_ I Love Lulu. The Love Ship. M*U*S*H. _

This universe gives him a headache. 

He roots through the fridge for extra cheese and butter. Who cares if he gains a little more weight right before he dies? Besides, MJ had said it was a good look on him, so hah! He adds another whopping spoonful of butter. 

He can’t help but eye Aunt May behind her back. He hopes she and MJ can sit down and talk it out at some point. He doesn’t like the thought of them being at odds. 

If he got back home, he’d start being more honest with MJ. Tell her when he’s hurt, when he’s sad, when he’s scared. Tell her who tried to kill him today. Real names. No aliases. All that stuff he’d hidden in the name of protecting her without asking if she wanted to be protected. He’d tell her about being sucked into a parallel dimension where he was young and blond and dead. Tell her about Miles and Gwen and hisself who is a pig. Tell her that he’s scared of failing as a father. Tell her about how she consumed his thoughts when he thought he was going to die in this alternate dimension with the weird brand names. Tell her how his biggest regret, his greatest mistake, the most dumbass move he ever made in his life was pulling away from her and letting their marriage slip away. 

Tell her he’d give anything just to make her smile one last time. 

But none of that’s happening so he should stop thinking about it and just make some dinner. He does up some of those brownie in a mug things too, since he has that particular recipe memorized. Another unknown talent of his. He sits cross-legged on the floor by Aunt May’s feet since that’s the safest distance to glitch from, and Aunt May finds some stupid 80s comedy they both thoroughly enjoy watching, and they eat their mac and cheese and brownies and it truly feels like being a part of a family again. Aunt May tells him about the nice new furniture she bought with the money she’d put by for ‘Spiderman Related Disasters’ and about the crew she’s hired to fix up the house “in a few days”, which they both know is code for when Peter isn’t here anymore. She probably wants to give him a peaceful environment in which to die. 

“You put a lot of money by for Spiderman disasters,” Peter comments through a mouth full of brownie. 

“Well, look what you lot did to my house!” is her reply, and he shuts up because it’s a very good point. 

They play cards for a while and then watch some game shows, which Peter is usually pretty handy with but absolutely sucks at in this weird world. He still slams the floor like it’s a button and answers loud and usually wrong to every question. In his apartment back home, he’s had noise complaints from getting enthusiastic over Jeopardy. Aunt May whacks him in the side of the head when he starts getting too loud, but she’s smiling when he looks up at where she’s still seated in her chair. 

The fun ends, of course, when he has a series of glitches and is left twitching on the floor and trying really, really,  _ really _ hard not to get teary-eyed. This hurts. Aunt May hauls him up the stairs and back into bed and that’s the cap on fun for the night. This time, there’s no secret visits to the spider shed. Just a bunch of times during the night he wakes up glitching, and clenches his teeth hard to get through it before falling back into exhaustion. 

It’s a really long night. The day it transitions into isn’t much better. He’s started glitching at least once every ten minutes, with the multi-glitch attacks occurring at least once an hour. Things are getting way worse, way faster. Peter doesn’t think he’s going to see another morning. But Miles said he would sneak out tonight so he has to hang on, just for that. He drinks the soup Aunt May brings him in a mug and tries to figure out what his last words to the kid should be. He migrates to the ruined sofa to watch tv for the afternoon and drifts between reruns and sleep. He just needs the strength to see Miles one more time. 

It’s a blurry day. That’s the only way to really describe it. And he feels guilty about basically forcing Aunt May to watch him die but at the same time it’s such a relief to have someone there with him, who sits beside him and holds his hand just like his Aunt May did when he was sick as a child. She puts a cool washcloth on his forehead and holds his hand with the sound of game shows in the background and Peter thinks that if he had to die, maybe this wasn’t such a bad way. Better than being torn apart by some bad guy and left mutilated in the street like a modern Ripper victim. Better than dragging himself into an empty apartment onto the mattress on the floor and dying there for the landlord to discover when he comes for rent. And then there would be the other things the landlord would discover, oh yeah. What a headline that would be for the Bugle—Spiderman Found Dead in Dirty-Ass Apartment: Peter Parker Revealed as Masked Menace and General Good-for-Nothing. Here, he can also start the article: Citizens of New York, you’ve been placing your lives in the fumbling hands of a divorced, 38 year old man who couldn’t even pay his bills. Peter scowls and rubs his face. Would there be some sort of speech? Any sort of shrine at his grave? He can’t remember whether New York hates him or loves him right now—it oscillates so quickly at times, and he can’t really recall what his last big public appearance was. Was it a tussle with bank robbers that was easy to do and made him look good...or one of those big boss fights with a lot of collateral damage that he never causes but is always blamed for? What is Doc Ock even up to these days? Peter can’t remember the last time they fought. 

He grits his teeth through a glitch. 

Rhino. That’s the latest dumbass villain name balancing on the edge of his memory. What sort of fight had he had with Rhino? Probably a messy one, which is, again, not his fault. Yeah, yeah, that’s the last thing he remembers, aside from a few ‘save toddler from oncoming truck’ and ‘rescue six people from burning building’ things that never make the papers. Not that that’s  _ the point _ , not why he does it, of course not, but would it  _ kill _ the Bugle to print a list of all the good things he did this week every once in a while? Then maybe he’d get a nice speech and a shrine. 

This is all off-topic. He’s not going to be a body to find in his own world. Nobody will know that Spiderman is even dead. The only thing a few people will know is that someone named Peter B. Parker mysteriously disappeared. And then when Rhino shows up again and starts killing people, they’ll all start screaming for Spiderman and nobody will come swinging in to save the day and someone else will have to deal with it for freakin once. And then they’ll probably assume that Spiderman just got sick of the job and retired, so that way it’s all his fault again even though he’s almost forty and has a busted back and really should be  _ allowed _ to retire with a pension. 

Man, he’s bitter today. 

What is Mary Jane going to think? His thoughts keep circling back to that. When Spiderman doesn’t show up for a few weeks, will she go to that ratty apartment and find nobody there? Will she think he died, small and secret in the spider suit, curled in some corner with injuries that wouldn’t heal quite fast enough? Or will she think he packed up and left, for some other city where nobody expected a hero, a place where he could get a normal job and a normal life and be normal Peter Parker? She’s not going to know he died in an alternate dimension because he just couldn’t reach home fast enough. Are there any other options? He can’t think of any. 

Now he’s just being depressing. Peter slings his legs off the sofa and wobbles where he stands. The washcloth falls from his forehead to the carpet with a wet little flop.

“Where are you going?” Aunt May asks, doing a newspaper crossword in her chair that she’s pulled close to the sofa to be next to him. 

“Roof,” he croaks. “Fresh air.” He can feel her worried eyes on him all the way up the stairs. He finds one of the holes in the roof and catapults himself up through it with a web to either side. For a moment he flies through the air, and it feels just like when he was starting this gig, never sure if he might fall but not caring at the same time because the rush of wind on his face was too much to give up. But it only lasts a second before he lands on the roof tiles and slips a little on the snow. Peter lies back on the light covering of white and sighs as the cold penetrates his aching, glitchy body. He’d always used swinging through the city as some sort of weird stress relief and he wishes he’d known that time out with Miles was going to be his last time. He doesn’t dare try it now with such frequent glitching, and he’s too tired to change into the suit anyways. 

It’s later than he thought it was, the sky darker. Peter settles into place, glitching regularly, and isn’t surprised when Miles clambers up the side of the roof not a half hour later. He’s dressed in his street clothes, but Peter can see the snatches of black suit underneath it all. Hopefully the kid has baby powdered the joints. The first few weeks of wearing the suit underneath your clothes can be stifling. 

“Did you have fun with you dad?” he asks, as Miles sweeps a patch of snow away and sits beside him. “Putting your art up?” 

Miles nods, sadness tinting his smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it was good.” It’s quiet for a moment and then Miles adds, “Want to see a picture?” 

Peter sits up and scoots a little closer. He’s never really understood the whole street art thing, perhaps because he has zero creative skills, but Miles thinks it’s important, so now it has to be important to him too. He looks at the photos that Miles scrolls through on his phone, some just of a work in progress, some of who must be Miles’ dad covered in paint splatters, some of Miles smiling proud as he stands next to the completed wall decorated with his uncle’s face. Peter smiles too, soft and secret to himself. He’s so glad he got to know this kid. 

Which brings him to his final words. He might as well say them now. 

Glitch. Except he’s so used to them now he just lies back and lets it happen. Miles stares at him with huge anxious eyes, but Peter is quick to sit up again and cross his legs, angling himself towards Miles. And Miles must realize that this is at least somewhat serious because he shoves his phone in his pocket and copies Peter so he’s cross-legged as well. Peter takes a deep breath and says the words he needs to say. 

“Miles, I’m sorry.” 

Miles blinks in confusion. “What? Why?” 

Except now Peter has noticed the bruise on the kid’s face. He points at it. “What happened? Someone hit you?”

Miles immediately looks a little shamefaced. Mumble mumble “...drone...” mumble mumble. 

“Drone to the face?”

Miles nods. 

Been there, done that. Peter bumps Miles’ shoulder with his fist, light and teasing. “Showing off for the cameras?” 

More mumbling. And then: “Didn’t you say something? About being sorry?” 

Oh. Right. Peter takes another deep breath and resets the conversation. He’s thrown himself off his serious mode. It’ll take a minute to kick back in. Okay, okay, here it is. “Miles, I’m sorry.” And before Miles can get all confused again, he continues. It’s easier in the fading light, where he can’t read Miles’ expression so easily. “I was a jerk to you. When we met. You were trying to do the right thing and I was...not trying to do that. I was…” God, this is hard. “I was being really…” Selfish, the word is selfish, but he doesn’t want to use it. “Really...only caring about myself. And I’m sorry about that. Also hitting you with the punching bag wasn’t...wasn’t the nicest thing I’ve done.” 

Miles taps a little rhythm on the roof with his fingertips. “Well, I kinda tied you to the punching bag, so maybe we can call that whole thing even. Also electrocuted you and...and the train and...yeah.” The rhythm stops. “Can we just call that even?” 

Peter snorts a laugh. He doesn’t remember most of what happened between being electrocuted and waking up tied to a punching bag, but he knows it must have been bad. “Okay. Even. On that part.” His grin turns into a frown rather quickly and he stares up at the sky rather than face Miles as he goes on. “But I know I wasn’t exactly the greatest Spiderman coach…I mean, I tried harder in the end but at the start I was...not good, and you deserved better than—”

“Whoa, hey, hey!” This time, it’s Miles bumping his shoulder with a gentle fist. “Look, I know I called you the janky old Spiderman—”

“Wait, you what?”

“—but!” Miles continues over him, “Now I’m glad it was you teaching me, Peter.” That’s enough to drag Peter’s gaze back from the sky. Miles beams at him. “You’re a good guy.” 

Peter bites at his lip and fiddles with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “Well, I’m sure that this world’s Peter…” 

Miles’ voice is very quiet when he cuts Peter off, the sort of quiet that seems so much louder than anything else. It’s the kid’s turn to study the sky, the stars peeping around the clouds. “This world’s Peter was also a good guy. He promised to teach me, right before he died.” Miles sighs and hitches his hoodie a little higher up his shoulders. “You know what he said to me, before I ran away? The thing he thought was most important? It was to hide my face and never tell anyone who I am.” He nods decisively. “And that’s good advice. I don’t ever want to put my family in danger. So for most of the time, I’ll hide my face.” His expression twists into something Peter doesn’t know, and then Miles laughs breathlessly. “But then next thing, I’m meeting you. And it was really freaky for a while but you were you and I was me and we both Spiderman and...it worked. I didn’t need to hide from you, or Gwen, or any of the others, and I think that was part of what got me through it. No, I  _ know _ it. I couldn’t have done it on my own. Not without my family, and not without you guys.” He turns his smile back on Peter. Actually, it’s a bit of a smirk. “And as weird as your teaching methods are, something must have stuck, because I think I’m doing a pretty good job as Spiderman so far!”

Peter can’t help it. He reaches out and pokes the bruise on Miles’ cheek. “That’s why you got hit with a drone?”

“That drone came out of nowhere, man!” 

Peter laughs. And glitches. Laughs again after his body has pieced itself back together. But Miles’ face is serious as he leans in closer. “Look, my point is, you’re the teacher I wanted.” He pauses, and then sighs with a huge roll of his eyes. “Well, no. Not at first.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But you’re the one I got!” Miles waves the commentary aside. “And you’re the one I’d pick.” 

It’s Peter’s turn to blink. Once. Twice. “Excusez-moi?”

Miles rolls his eyes again, much more deliberately. “You’re weird. But still.” He holds up a hand, one finger pointed up. “First choice.”

That makes Peter’s chest hurt, for some reason. And it has nothing to do with glitching. “Wait, you’re serious?” 

“I’m serious.” 

Peter leans back on his hands and stares towards the lights of the city. Wonders why the hell his throat feels so tight. First choice, huh? Jenky old Spiderman, first choice. 

“Really?” he asks after a long pause.

Miles nods, but then crosses his arms and says a little crossly, “You still owe me five bucks for that burger though.”

The pain in his chest gets miraculously lighter. “You’re seriously going to hold five bucks over my head?” 

“I’m in middle school! Five bucks is a big deal!” 

Peter makes a show of turning out his pockets and checking his sleeves. “I don’t have five bucks. Rain check?” 

Miles scoffs. They both know that isn’t happening. 

“Still first choice?” Peter asks again after a minute, and grins when Miles groans. He lies back down on the roof, arms crossed behind his head. 

Oh for the love of— 

He glitches again, and when it’s over, Miles helps him roll off his side onto his back once more, where he lies panting and wincing. “Maybe you should go inside, man.” Miles reaches out and—okay, weird—checks Peter’s pulse. “My mom’s a nurse,” he explains when he sees Peter’s expression. “You pick things up.” 

“Ah.” 

Another glitch. Miles checks his pulse again. “You need to get inside, Peter. Come on.” 

They drop through the hole in the roof and Miles helps Peter get to his bed. Aunt May comes up with hot drinks not two minutes later, smiling slightly to herself. “Nice to see you again, Miles.” 

Miles bobs his head as he accepts his drink. “You too, Mrs. Aunt May.” She laughs as he goes a little red in the cheeks. 

“Just Aunt May is fine. If you let me know when you’re planning on dropping in next, I can have banana bread ready.” 

Miles’ eyes flicker to Peter. So do Aunt May’s. Peter tries to pretend he doesn’t feel their gaze. “Yeah, I’m...uh...not sure when I’ll be back.” 

Because Peter is going to die. But, in this wonderfully gentle little moment, it’s okay. Peter blows on the warm milk and smiles as the steam wafts up into his face. Hopefully he doesn’t glitch and break the mug. He and Miles sit side by side on the edge of the bed while Aunt May leans against the doorway. Miles is still short enough that his legs can still swing back and forth, but just barely. 

Aunt May and Miles talk a bit about school and how his classes are going. He’s quite proud of an essay he finished and feels a bit better about his new school, even though he misses Gwen. The kids are still making jokes about when he got his fingers caught in her hair—Peter disguises his laughter as a cough into his elbow, but Miles is so completely onto him—but it balanced out when he was able to swing around as Spiderman a bit after classes were done and show off a bit, even though that’s not how Miles puts it. Peter would bet a whole five dollars he doesn’t have that that was when the drone to the face happened. After a few minutes of chatting, Aunt May reaches out to ruffle their hair, the both of them like they’re her own kids, and goes back downstairs. The sounds of the television filter up to them moments later. Miles smiles at Peter and takes a drink.

If this is the last time he sees Miles, Peter would be okay with that. 

There’s still stuff he needs to say though. He finishes the warm milk first and places the mug on the nightstand, unscathed. “So...um…I have something else I want to...say sorry for.” 

Miles looks up at him with a milk mustache. Peter taps his upper lip and Miles’ eyes go wide for a moment before he uses his sleeve to wipe the mustache away. “What is it?” 

Peter blows out breath slowly and fiddles with the blanket as he shifts so he’s facing Miles, one leg curled under him. There’s really nothing to do but say it, is there? “So, that time I webbed you to a chair and glued your mouth shut?”

“Yeah, I remem—”

“It wasn’t because I didn’t believe in you!” Peter interrupts, and grabs Miles’ shoulder with one hand, squeezing tight. Lowers his gaze so their eyes catch. “Okay? It wasn’t because—okay, no, I didn’t believe in you.” That honest streak of his comes out at the stupidest times. But Miles deserves the truth. His face falls, and Peter shakes his shoulder, just a little bit. “No, listen to the whole thing. I didn’t believe in you. You couldn’t control your invisibility or your electricity and I was...I was…” It’s okay for Spiderman to be scared. It’s okay. It’s okay to say it. “I was  _ scared  _ of letting you follow me into that fight and getting killed. Okay? Because your parents didn’t know what was going on and as the...semi-responsible adult, I made that choice for you.” Peter sighs and his gaze falls to the drink still in Miles’ hands. “Better finish that before it gets cold.” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Miles finishes his drink in one gulp, and, wordlessly, Peter takes the mug from him to put on the nightstand. He arranges the mugs side by side, other hand still locked to Miles’ shoulder, even though he doesn’t look back to him. 

“I was scared, Miles,” he repeats softly. “And I don’t always do the right thing when I’m scared. Actually, I can’t remember the last time I did the  _ right _ thing. So I thought the best way of...of...of caring about you…” He groans and tilts his face back. He’s so bad at this. “Because I do care about you,” he says to the ceiling, “And I’m also really bad at caring about people…” 

“Peter…” Miles says, and then a hand is landing on Peter’s own shoulder. Then shifts so Miles is gripping his upper arm instead through the thick fabric of the sweatshirt. “You don’t—”

“I do,” Peter says firmly, and finally dares meet Miles’ eyes. “Look, if I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have tied you to the chair. Which sounds weird, but Miles, the fact is—!” 

Glitch. Long. Painful. Makes him break out in a cold sweat, but he pushes himself up off the mattress and keeps going, because Miles needs to hear this. The kid has both hands around Peter’s arms, helping him stay upright. Peter pats his elbow in what he hopes is a soothing way and keeps going, voice rasping. “The reason I didn’t want you fighting Kingpin wasn’t because I didn’t believe you could do it.” He shakes his head and lets his hand drop from Miles’ elbow. Finger by finger, as if he’s afraid Peter will glitch again, Miles releases Peter’s arms and retreats back into his own space, curling his legs up to his chest. “I just didn’t believe you could do it  _ yet _ ,” Peter tells him, trying to put every single emotion he has into those words. “Just not yet. I mean, you’d only had the powers for a few days! And I know...and I know I told you when we first met that you should just go back to being a regular kid, but that was wrong. You’ve got...you’ve got this something, this...I don’t know. I don’t do sentimental stuff well. But it’s the sort of something that will make you an amazing Spiderman, Miles.” He nods like an idiot until Miles finally grins a little and nods along. Peter raises a fist. “You’re gonna be great, bud, I just know it.” Miles’ grin widens and he bumps their fists together. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And that’s coming from your first-choice Spiderman coach, so you know I’m right.” 

Miles laughs, and it’s just such a  _ good _ sound. Who knew kids laughing could be so good? And Peter loves this kid, he really does. It makes him feel all warm inside, the way he felt when things were still good with Mary Jane, when they’d sit together and watch movies with her feet in his lap and the police scanner turned down low, when she’d patch him up after a fight and kiss his forehead and call him an idiot, when she’d pretended to be surprised when he proposed even though he’d been way too obvious trying to measure her finger size with the twisty-tie off a package of bread. 

He’s pretty sure this warmth inside is happiness. Like, the real deal. Not the shallow high off a meaningless online purchase or good meal, but the sort of happiness you could actually live off of. And all because of a teenager, good grief. How would his chest handle it if he ever had his own kid? 

“I’m not going to be here the next time you visit,” Peter says softly, while Miles is still chuckling. “But I want you to know that I believe in you, a hundred percent. A hundred and ten. Two hundred. A thousand.” Is that high enough? Has he made his point? “And this isn’t your fault, got it? That’s another Spiderman tip.” 

Miles’ brow furrows. “What is?” 

Peter shrugs one shoulder. “What the pig said. You can’t always save everybody. But what you need to remember…” He holds out a finger, very teacher-like. “Is that it’s not your fault. It’s the fault of people like Doc Ock and Kingpin. And any other bad people you’re going to run into on this job. They’re the ones who choose to hurt people. As long as you—” He pokes the finger into Miles’ chest, “—are trying to do the saving, it’s not your fault. Not even when it goes wrong. Not even when everyone is saying that it’s all Spiderman’s fault, because sometimes they will. When bad things happen sometimes people need a scapegoat. But as long as you’re wearing that mask, risking your life to save others…”

This a weird conversation and it reminds him of the one he had with his Uncle Ben. Déjà vu, much?

“Then you are doing just fine,” he finishes, and is unprepared when his arms are suddenly full of teenage boy. Which is not something that happens often, at least not when he’s out of the suit. He pats Miles awkwardly on the back while the kid hides his face in Peter’s chest. “Are you okay there?” 

Miles nods and doesn’t let go. Peter feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth and slowly lets his arms fall around Miles’ shoulders. “Okay. Just checkin’.” 

They stay like that, the only noise coming from the cars passing on the street and the game show Aunt May is watching. Finally, Miles speaks, but it’s so muffled Peter can’t make it out. 

“What?”

Miles pulls away slowly, eyes cast down. “I’m gonna miss you.”

_ I’m gonna miss me too, actually _ . 

“Yeah, well…” Crap, he doesn’t know how to handle this one. “Just...stay in school.” No, not that. Peter grinds a palm against his forehead. “Um...stay in school, eat your carrots, baby powder the suit. Do those stretches I showed you…” He sighs and pulls his hand away. “I don’t know, bud, just...make sure you always tell the people you love that you love ‘em. That’s not from your Spiderman coach. That’s from Peter. That’s...from me.” He thinks for a moment. “Actually, not just that you love them. When you’re happy, sad, scared...all that stuff. And if there are people in your life you want to share your secret with, then share it all. Don’t hide things from the people who want to help you.” That’s the best advice he’ll ever be able to give. It only comes out so easily now because he knows in his aching bones this is the last time he’ll see Miles. “Even Spiderman needs help sometimes. Remember that, okay kid?”

Miles nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I…” He bites at his lip and then leans forward to hug Peter again. “Yeah,” he repeats, arms squeezing Peter tight. “I’ll remember.” 

It seems much colder when Miles pulls away this time. “I should probably...go do my homework,” Miles says quietly. 

“That’s a good idea,” Peter agrees. “Be careful out there.” 

Miles slips off the bed and stuffs his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, shoes scuffing the floor. “I will be.”

Peter winces as he feels another glitch come on. And another. And another. It just keeps going on and it hurts like hell. At least he’s on the bed so there’s no embarrassing falling involved. He waves a hand to keep Miles away and pushes himself up on shaky arms when it’s over. The pain doesn’t really seem to be leaving this time. It stays, making his muscles jump. “Ah...ah, I’ll walk you down.” 

“Are you sure you should—?” 

“I’ll walk you down,” he repeats firmly, and grabs the empty mugs to bring to the kitchen. His hand shakes a little as he threads fingers through both handles and he hopes Miles doesn’t notice. They don’t exchange any more words as Peter follows Miles through the hallway and down the stairs. Aunt May looks up from the television and smiles as she stands. Peter goes to put the mugs in the sink as she and Miles talk. He massages his arms and tries to stop the sensation of static.

“You’re always welcome to drop by,” Aunt May says, “If you ever need anything or just need someone to talk to.”

“Thanks Aunt May.”

“And I’ll get lonely here real fast.”

“I’ll come visit!” Miles promises. Peter returns from the kitchen, trying to hide his frown as he studies Aunt May from behind her back. She probably will be lonely, with no Uncle Ben and no Peter and no dating profile either. He hopes MJ will visit. And he hopes Aunt May will offer the truth and MJ can forgive both her and their Peter for all the secrets. He hopes. That’s all he can do. He’s going to hate dying with another loose thread on his end, but there’s no helping it. Not like he’d be any help getting them to reconcile. 

He can feel another glitch coming on, but now is such a bad time. He holds it back like a sneeze and knows that he’s going to pay for it later. He can feel how badly his body wants to rip itself apart. He feels fuzzy around the edges and can’t feel one of his legs very well. This is the part where things get gruesome, isn’t it?

Miles needs to go. He can’t see what’s coming up. Peter struts across the room as well as he can with a leg that doesn’t want to work and opens the front door. The cool night air breezes in, but it doesn’t make much of a difference in the room temperature. Too many gaping holes messily patched with plywood for that. Peter smiles at Miles and jerks his head. 

“School night.” 

Miles makes a face but trudges over to him anyways, untied shoelaces trailing from his one foot. He reaches the door and then spins, stands on the threshold looking back in at Aunt May coming to see him off, at Peter standing right there, and Peter can see the indecision written into every line of his face. 

Peter stares at Miles as Miles decides if it’s really okay to leave. He’s so small and so young, and Peter wishes he could take every hardship Miles will ever face onto himself, take all the pain, the ridicule, every last piece of it so the kid would never have to know what it feels like. God, he wishes he could. But Miles will have to deal with it himself. That’s part of being Spiderman.

Peter clears his throat awkwardly. “Well, good luck.” 

Mlles stands just as awkwardly in the doorway, fiddling with his hoodie and looking like he wants to say something. He opens his mouth a few times but always closes it again before anything actually comes out. Shuffle shuffle, open and close, open and close.

Aw, hell, this isn’t the mood for their final moments Peter wants. He reaches out and tugs Miles’ hood up over his head in one quick motion, momentarily blinding him and fluffing his hair. Miles bats his hands away and struggles to push the hood back down, seeming highly affronted, while Peter laughs. “Bye bud,” he sighs through a chuckle, and that’s the best, most genuine farewell he has. 

Miles seems to know it too. “See ya, man,” he says, and jumps down onto the front steps with a little bound. He waves when he reaches the sidewalk and slowly fades into the night with the sound of sneakers pounding on the ground. 

Aunt May’s hand lands on Peter’s shoulder. “You did good,” she says, and Peter lets himself be led back inside. “You want anything?” Aunt May starts towards the kitchen but he stops her.

“I’m good. I think I’ll just...upstairs.” 

Okay, later is calling, it wants its sneeze back. He’s halfway up the stairs when the glitch hits hard and he slides down a few steps before one of his hands in this dimension gets a hold. “Dammit,” he hisses through the pain, and doesn’t protest when Aunt May helps him up and gets him to the bedroom, because his limbs don’t seem to be attached just right. He glitches again passing through the doorway, one of those multiple glitch attacks, and it all ends with him tucked in bed five minutes later sweating and panting with a cool washcloth on his forehead and his hand sandwiched tight between Aunt May’s. Peter blinks, and blinks again. His vision isn’t...right. It’s all fragmented and fuzzy, but not like back when he needed glasses. This is a different sort of fuzzy, like the things he’s seeing are only half real. It makes him feel queasy, so he closes his eyes. 

Aunt May adjusts the cloth on his forehead. “You don’t have to watch this,” he tells her weakly, eyes still closed. 

“I’m staying,” she replies, no room for argument, and silently, selfishly, he’s happy he won’t die alone. 

He can still vaguely hear the television, tell when one show ends and another begins. Time is definitely passing, though he wishes it would pass faster. He glitches, and then glitches again. When he chances opening an eye, his vision has only gotten worse, bits and pieces of the world breaking into vivid, flashing colors, just like it had been at the collider, though now he knows it’s only him. Every piece of him, breaking apart in the wrong world. 

Spiderman doesn’t scream. Peter manages to keep it to a low ‘aargh’ of pain when the next glitch hits, rippling through his body like a bunch of sawblades, but he can’t promise to be so quiet next time. He can hear Aunt May calling his name and he squeezes her hand and attempts a smile. On the first floor, one game show ends with a blare of music. Another begins with similar fanfare. 

His skin feels like it’s buzzing. Peter hopes it doesn’t look too grotesque, when his body rips itself apart. He hopes there isn’t a body left. What would Aunt May do if she was left with his corpse? Cope with it, of course, that’s what she’d do, but he still doesn’t want to make it another thing on her to-do list. 

Glitch. And another. Another. He knows the hours are passing. Peter stuffs a fist in his mouth but he can feel the tears running hot down his face. This hurts, oh God, it hurts more than he thought. He curls himself as small as he can go and hopes for it to be over soon. Is that the sound of another show ending? Please, please let this one be his last hour. He doesn’t want to be kept here any longer when obviously no part of him wants to be here either. 

He’s so glad Miles didn’t have to see this.

Are Aunt May’s hands shaking as they rub his back or is it him? He can’t tell with his skin buzzing like this. Or is it his bones? Are his bones vibrating? Every joint aches, every inch of him hurts, and he just wants to die. Let his atoms rattle apart and disperse and then he can finally be done. Maybe it’ll be nice to get sort of a permanent day off?

God, he really can’t keep the tears back from eyes that no longer work in one dimension and he can taste blood where he’s biting his fist to keep the screams and cries at bay. Great, he’s going to leave blood on Aunt May’s sheets. Or will that come apart as well and leave no trace that Peter B. Parker was ever in this world? 

Please let Mary Jane know he loves her, please let Mary Jane know he loves her, please let Mary Jane know…

Another glitch, and Peter bites down hard but the sob still escapes him. Please let him die, please let her know, please let him die…

Someone is calling his name, but it’s like he’s underwater and can only make out the barest sound. “—eter!”

It hurts to take his fist from his mouth. “Aunt May?” he asks, not daring to uncurl, not daring to open his eyes. 

“Peter!” 

Yes, that’s his name. He doesn’t know why she’s calling it so loud. And repeatedly. Peter rubs at his eyes and opens one, just barely. “Wha—”

That’s Miles. He’s composed of geometric shapes that all flash in pink and yellow and green, but Peter still knows him. He shouldn’t be here. Miles shouldn’t be here, seeing this. But he’s right in Peter’s face and calling his name. And next to him is—what the hell…?

If not for the absolute agony that is his entire body, he’d think he’d died, because he could swear that’s Gwen standing there. 

Maybe it’s the memory of his world’s Gwen, the one he tried really hard not to think about the past few days. The other one he couldn’t save. Dead for over twenty years. She’d had long hair when he knew her, and rocked that 90s fashion so hard he might not have even realized he was staring at her younger version if not for the name. The young Gwen didn’t need to know about herself in his world though, the same way he didn’t want to know about the Peter in hers. That was the right call, wasn’t it? 

God, can he not spend his last moments questioning every single decision he’s ever made? He did enough of that the last few months, crying in the shower or flopped on the mattress. Peter squeezes his eyes shut and hides his face in the pillow as another glitch rolls over him, and then another. There are hands plucking at his arm, stealing his blanket, and Peter opens his eyes again to try to properly glare at whoever it is, but his vision has gotten spotty and neon and he doubts he looks very menacing with pieces of his face flickering in and out of reality. Hands on his arm again, and Peter jerks away. “Gerroff.” 

“Peter!” Shouted, right in his ear. He turns his head groggily that direction. Gwen? Oh yeah, she was here. What is she doing here? Actually, what is Miles doing here? Are they real? If he is going to hallucinate anyone, can’t it be MJ? Can’t he at least have that? 

Gwen is still talking, shaking his arm and trying to haul him into sitting position. Not a hallucination? Her words come to him in pieces.

“—eter.”

“Collid—”

“ _ Home _ .”

He latches onto that last one. “Home?” 

“Home!” Three voices, all at once. 

Peter tries to sit up, but his body tries to tear itself apart again. He bites down on his lip hard. Fuck. Fuck, this hurts. Two people, one tucked under each of his arms, hauling him out of the bed. Moving hurts. Everything hurts. “Wha—?” 

Again, the voices through water. “—is safe?”

“Would I have...this...not safe?”   

“But he...handle...kills him?”

“Do we...other choi—?” 

They lose hold when he glitches again and falls to the floor with a pathetic flop. One person kneels down to pick him up again. Peter dares a peek. Miles. He sees the word on Miles’ lips rather than hears it. “Home.” 

Home. Yes please, home. He nods and tries to help at least a little when Miles gets him back on his feet. He glances around the room. Aunt May is there, hovering in case he falls again. Miles is at his side. And...and there’s a thingy in the room, something that stands out even to his fractured and flashing vision. Some sort of bright circle? Almost his height but not quite, neon colors seeming to suck everything in the room towards it. And Gwen, young Gwen, fiddling with something on her wrist. She glances up, hair falling across her eyes. Locks her gaze with Peter’s, and he doesn’t remember ever seeing such an anxious expression on her face. He wants to tell her it’s okay, but everything is moving too quickly and talking hurts anyway. 

Gwen runs over to support Peter’s other side, and then she and Miles are moving him towards the shiny spinning thing. He immediately digs his heels in. Nothing good comes of jumping into shiny spinning things you don’t know. But he’s not exactly at full strength right now, and then a single shove between his shoulder blades sends him tripping the last few steps. He shuts his eyes tight as he falls through the circle and sprawls on cool, solid floor. 

And things don’t hurt. For a second he thinks it’s because he really did just kick the bucket, but his fingers scratch at wooden flooring and all the pain that had been buzzing along his skin and vibrating his bones is gone, just an unpleasant memory now. When he opens his eyes, nothing is flashing or changing from searing color to searing color. In fact, everything is quite drab. Peter risks turning over onto his back, and there are Miles and Gwen, standing over him, really there. Gwen smiles a little when Peter stares at her for explanation while Miles leans down to take his pulse at the wrist. “How do you feel?” 

“...not dead,” he manages after a moment, and lifts his head to stare at the whirling circle. There’s Aunt May, standing in Peter Parker’s bedroom, like he’s looking at her through a window. Like...he’s not in that world anymore. 

“This is your apartment, isn’t it?” Gwen asks, looking around with hands on her hips.

“Wait, is this your place? You live like this, man?” Miles says, and Peter glances to the side. Oh yeah, that’s his bike. This is his apartment. He’s home. 

Wait, he’s home? 

“I’m home?” he blurts out, sitting upright way too fast and needing to lie back down a second later. “I’m home?” he repeats. 

“Yeah,” Gwen answers with a little shrug, like this is no big deal. 

“Seriously, man, you  _ live _ like this?” Thanks for the input, Miles. 

“It looked better before I got sucked into another world,” Peter mutters, and tries sitting up again, slower. He waves a little at Aunt May, who waves back, other hand pressed to her chest. 

Gwen walks over to the spinning circle. A portal, Peter realizes belatedly. Between worlds. “I shouldn’t keep this open too long,” she says to Aunt May. “Just in case.” 

Aunt May nods. “Well, come and visit. All of you.” She locks eyes with Peter and smiles, and then Gwen is fiddling with her wrist again and the portal closes with a little  _ fwip _ noise. And then it’s just him and two teenagers in his apartment. 

“What the hell just happened?” Peter manages after a moment. God, his place really is a mess. He stands with a groan and starts shoving things back into place. Even his bed has been flung against the wall, and he’s absolutely going to pitch a fit if the tv is broken. Miles reaches down to right a lamp. “Don’t!” Peter warns. “I...need something to do with my hands. Just tell me how this happened. How am I here? How are you two here?” 

Miles hums and taps a foot. Kid is wearing boxer shorts, Peter realizes. His sneakers, and a hoodie, and boxer shorts. Didn’t he have the time to put on pants? 

Gwen, at least, is in her spider outfit, hood thrown back. She taps her wrist. A doodad on her wrist. “When I got back to my world, I was thinking that maybe the Doc Ock I know might be working on something to cross dimensions too. Same people think alike, I guess? And...that turned out to be right. This wasn’t hard to steal.” She turns away a little, and is that a little blush on her cheeks? “Originally I just thought I’d...call you guys up every once in a while, as long as it was safe and wouldn’t collapse the multiverse or anything.” She fiddles with the doodad some more. “I thought I would...um…” A cough. “Say hi to Miles, but then he told me how you got trapped behind and...here we are.” 

See, that’s the kind of explanation Peter likes. Short, uncomplicated, and involves stealing from a Doctor Octopus. He kicks his mattress back into position and straightens up. She deserves his full attention for this. “Thanks Gwen. You just saved my life.” 

She coughs again. “Well, yeah, I’m a Spider person, saving lives is sort of the…” She sighs, and then smiles wearily. “You’re welcome.” 

“I really thought you were going to die before we could get you out of bed,” Miles mutters, and scuffs the floor with his shoe. 

Peter waves a hand about. “Sit anywhere. There’s no rules in this place. But yeah, I was pretty sure I was a goner too.” He studies his hands and blinks a few times. Perfect vision. Wow. He’s actually alive. Which means…

He can actually do all those things he’d wished he had a chance to do.

Which is suddenly a terrifying proposition because oh  _ hell _ he decided he wanted to have kids, didn’t he? He snaps his gaze to the two kids currently trying to find a non-crummy place to sit in his awful apartment. Oh God, look at those fragile potatoes. And MJ! He needs to talk to MJ, needs to call her and tell her...tell her…

Tell her everything. Because that’s what a good Spiderman does. What a good (ex) husband does. He tells the truth. 

“Look, I made a throne of pizza boxes!” Miles enthuses, and Gwen giggles, because they are annoying potatoes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m a slob.” He makes shooing motions with his hands. “Now get back to your own worlds. It’s a school night.” 

Both of them groan. “Oh my  _ God _ , Peter.” “Yeah, come on man!” 

Peter examines his bike carefully. There doesn’t seem to be any serious damage. Okay good. “I mean it. School night. Wait!” He sets his bike up against the wall and walks over to examine the little gadget on Gwen’s watch. At first glance it could be one of those new fancy watches that talks to you, but there’s way too many buttons for that. “You can really jump dimensions with this thing?”

She raises an eyebrow. Okay, yeah, that was a dumb question. 

“Are you glitching at all?” he asks. 

“Not so far.” 

“So you think you could...jump to any of our worlds, using that thing?” 

“Pretty much. Doc Ock knows what he’s doing.” Gwen taps the transporter. “Way more compact than the collider, but I think the purpose was different. It just creates...portals. Little rips in reality. It’s not about trying to drag people out of the worlds they actually belong in.”

“Hmm.” Peter grabs her arm so he can study the transporter himself. “And it’s safe?” 

Gwen bites at her lip for a moment before nodding. “I think so. I tried opening portals a few times in Miles’ world, just to see. I can’t quite control where it opens. Yet. But it isn’t random. I had to try a few places before I found Miles’ dorm, but I’m pretty sure I visited his room at home.”

“Wait, you saw my room?” Miles squeaks. Peter grins. Gwen turns a little more pink and sweeps her hair back in a nervous gesture. “So I’m pretty sure it was trying to lock onto Miles. With you, Peter, we just dragged you to the first place that opened into your world. Lucky that it was actually your apartment.” Her brow furrows. “Maybe because you were right there when I opened the portal? Your world wanted to snap you back into place.” 

“That seems like a reasonable explanation. I wanted the same thing.” Peter frowns and picks a slightly moldy piece of pizza up off the floor. “Do I even own a trash can? I can’t remember. I might have just been chucking stuff out the window.” He lets the pizza flop back on the ground. “So anyone can follow you through these portals, then?” 

Gwen nods. “Which is why it’s a good thing Doc Ock doesn’t have it anymore.” 

“He’ll rebuild. He always does.” 

“Then I’ll just stop him again. Like I always do.” 

There’s the Gwen he knew, buried beneath ten thousand layers of teenage surliness. Peter can’t help but grin. She side-eyes him. “What?”

She wouldn’t get it. “Nothing. So you only have one of these things?” 

She studies the gadget. “For now. I bet Peni can whip something up real quick. She’s got technology a whole century ahead of ours, after all.” 

That’s true. And here Peter thought he’d never see any of them ever again, whether it was slowly dying in the wrong world or disappearing into their own dimensions. His chest blooms warm. He’s missed his other selves. Yes, even the pig. 

Not like he can let these two in on how stupidly happy he feels. “I meant what I said about the school night.” 

Another round of simultaneous groaning. Peter groans too, mockingly, and Miles gets up off his throne of pizza boxes. “Come on, be the cool Spiderman coach.” 

“Nope.” Peter jams a foot down on just the right place on the floor. The board flips up, revealing his little stash of extra spider gear inside. 

“Wait, you said you had a shed!” 

“I lied. Now get, because I want to change.” The clothes he’d borrowed from Aunt May are sweat soaked and disgusting. And after twenty-two years, he just doesn’t feel fully dressed without the suit on. He drags one up out of the secret lair under the floorboards and shakes it a little in Miles’ direction. “Handmade. Tiny stitches. Keep a couple of extras on hand, always.” 

“And baby powder the joints,” Gwen adds and Peter could just hug her, but he won’t because she’d probably kick him out the window. So he settles for smirking while Miles rolls his eyes. They still don’t seem to be rushing to leave. 

“I’m taking my shirt off,” Peter calls in warning, and both their eyes widen in panic he’s going to choose not to be offended by. Gwen begins to fiddle with her device.

“Okay, back to Miles’ world, and then to mine. That’s not hard. That’s not hard.” The air seems to spark, and then the whirling circle of colors appears once again, growing from the size of a pinhead to man-sized in a matter of seconds. Miles peers through and his brows knit. 

“This is my Uncle Aaron’s apartment.” 

Gwen nods, tilting her head a little in acknowledgement of the weight of those words. “I saw this place when I was looking for you. Can you get back to school from here?” 

Miles nods and starts towards the portal, but he pauses and looks back at Peter. Smiles. “Glad you’re not dead.” 

“Me too,” Peter agrees, and they stare at each other for a long moment before Miles laughs and salutes. 

“So I’ll definitely be seeing you around! Take care, man!” And he hops through the portal into the darkness of his uncle’s apartment. 

Gwen tugs her hood up and holds her mask in hand as she starts through—probably looking to spend some time with Miles instead of heading back home right away, since saving Peter took a chunk of their social time—but she looks back as well. Tips her head from side to side and then says softly. “Both of us were able to save a Peter Parker this time around. It feels...nice.” She smiles, gentle and fragile all at once, and then steps through the portal. It closes behind her with a  _ fwip _ . 

And they’re gone. A pile of pizza boxes is all he has to prove they were ever here. 

Peter nods to himself, and then very purposefully puts on the spider suit. He pulls his own (his own!) clothes on overtop and sighs as he looks around the apartment. Okay, maybe he can try a little harder here.

He can try a little harder everywhere. 

Right now, while he still has the courage, he needs to do it. He needs to call her. Peter searches through the debris on the floor for his cellphone, finds it with a little cry of triumph, and then realizes it’s run out of battery in the five odd days he’s been gone. Which leads to very impatient humming while he eats some ramen and sits against the wall near the outlet, phone charging while balanced on his knee. Okay, twenty percent, that’s enough. 

Wait. How late is it? He checks the phone. Past midnight. He shouldn’t bother MJ now. Plus, he could use the time to rehearse. And maybe sleep a little. Yeah. Sleep. 

Sleep sounds nice. Anticlimactic, but nice. 

He drags a few blankets with him and collapses on the mattress. Oh, that feels good. Lying down without glitching every few minutes? Absolute bliss. He hadn’t realized before now how the pain of staying in Miles’ world had crept up on him in ways he hadn’t noticed, more insidious than the glitching, more gradual. Relieved of it all at once, he buries his face in his pillow and sighs happily. He’ll never take being in his own dimension for granted again. 

It doesn’t take long to fall into sleep. The sun does make its appearance through the window at some point, but Peter just rolls over and covers his face with a blanket. He’s between jobs right now, so no use in getting up before he’s well and rested. He’ll allow himself that much. 

He finally starts to feel hungry and restless, and his phone informs him it’s past two in the afternoon. Okay. That’s enough time to whip up lunch and think about what to say to MJ before he actually calls her. 

He has to root around a bit to find another cup ramen that he’d bought in bulk, and he decides to straighten up a little more as he goes. Really, why has he been living like this? Because he hated his life and a clean apartment was really low on his list of priorities when his itinerary was already booked with crying, binge watching, and flopping around feeling miserable and sorry for himself. Hm, okay, that question was a bit too easy to answer, in hindsight. He tosses away trash and old bits of food into a plastic bag while the kettle boils, and then sits cross-legged on the floor, eating the too-hot noodles with a spork as he regards the phone. What is it he wants to say, needs to say? What was it that the other MJ had said again? 

To be honest. To tell her all the little things he thought he would protect her from. To not make her decisions for her. 

To admit that he was scared.  _ Is _ scared. 

And he can also tell her of all the regrets he had when he thought he would die, she was basically all of them. 

By the time he’s eaten, it’s almost three. MJ should still be at work, which means he would be leaving a voicemail. That’s a bit of relief. He can ease into things. Yeah, that’s the way to go.

His cellphone has completely charged, and his call history is a little pathetic. Mary Jane, Mary Jane, Mary Jane. Call ended at three seconds, six seconds, four seconds. The endless times he needed her and decided last second he would do without. 

Peter selects her as a contact and sighs at how she smiles out at him in her contact photo. He presses the green button. Okay, okay, he rehearsed this. He knows what to say. He really does. 

“Peter?” MJ answers on the other end. 

“Hi MJ, it’s Peter,” he says, because dammit he has a script and he doesn’t know how to get off this train. “I guess you’re busy right now but—” His brain kicks in at this point. “Wait, MJ?” 

“Yeah, that’s me,” she replies, and he can hear the smile in her voice. Which is amazing, because it’s felt like so long since he was able to make her smile. But then her tone goes a little more serious. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? It’s been a while since you last called…” 

“I’m—” No, this isn’t a conversation to have over the phone. Complete honesty. Complete honesty. “I just really wanted to hear your voice,” he admits, and curls his legs up to his chest. 

A beat of silence. “Did something happen?” MJ asks at last. 

He nods like an idiot, and then mutters, “Yeah. Something...something crazy.” 

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” 

He huffs a laugh and runs his free hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m okay now.” Oh boy, here it goes. “Can I...can I see you?”

The silence goes on for longer this time. Finally, she says, “What do you mean by that? Like, you want to get a coffee, or…?” 

No, he doesn’t want to get coffee. Or dinner. He just wants...her. He wants to see her. That’s all.

“Are you at work?”

She hums an affirmative. He winces. “Sorry. I thought...I thought I’d just leave a message. I didn’t mean to bother you at work.” 

“You gave me an excuse to go outside.” He can hear that smile in her voice again. God, he loves that smile. “It’s beautiful out today.”

“Can I swing by later?” he blurts out without thinking this through. “Since it’s nice out I might...take a walk. And drop by.” No, that’s stupid. He needs to take it back. “I mean, you can say no. That was a dumb idea.”

“It wasn’t a dumb idea!” MJ rushes to tell him. “It’s a nice idea! It’s been a while. We can catch up.” She hums again. “You know I didn’t want to become one of those divorced couples who can’t stand each other.” 

Divorced. Oh yeah. That word he hates. But she’s okay with him paying a visit, so that counts for something, right? “Um...what time would be good? Good for you? 

“Um...oh, shoot, I forgot I have a thing…” 

“A thing?”

“It’s just the dentist, I can cancel.”

“No! No, don’t cancel that. I’ll just—!” What will he just? 

He breathes. Remembers her smile, her touch, her kiss, her morning breath and strange dislike of celery. Everything he loves. This is worth trying for, even if he ends up failing. 

“Can I come by on Saturday? Are you free Saturday?” 

There’s the faint noise of traffic in the background of her reply. “I’m free Saturday. How about four? You can stay for dinner if you like.”

That sounds like the best thing ever. “I’ll be there!”

He doesn’t like the pause before she speaks again. “Will you?” 

Will you, Peter? Because empty promises were half your marriage. 

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “I-I won’t even be wearing the suit underneath.” There, now he’s serious. 

She knows it too. He can perfectly picture her perfect face in his head. That serious expression that begs to be lifted. Begs for him to say the right thing, do the right thing, be the person she needs him to be. “No suit?” she asks. 

“No suit,” he promises. “Well, I mean, maybe a regular suit? Like business casual? But nothing in red.” Oh man, thinking of suits, wait until he tells her about all those other suits that other Peter had. He’s going to have such a great story to pass time with. 

But MJ is giggling to herself and then clicks her tongue and says, “Alright, Saturday at four. I’ll be expecting you.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

“Then...bye until then?”

He can hear the smile again. “Bye until then. I’ll see you—”

“Can!” he starts, and then slows down, thinks this through, and starts again. “Can I bring flowers? Just to...brighten things up? Would that be...okay?” 

The other MJ had said she liked flowers.

This MJ takes a few seconds before answering. “Flowers would be nice,” she admits at last. “I’ll make sure I have a vase out.” 

_ I love you _ . 

It’s hard to remember he’s not supposed to end phone calls that way anymore. “Okay. See you then.” 

“See you then.” 

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Neither of them hang up. 

“Thank you,” Peter says softly. 

“For what?” 

Complete honesty. He takes a deep breath and lets the truth out. “It was good to hear your voice. See you Saturday, MJ.” He ends the call and slumps against the wall with a happy little sigh. That was not a disaster so he’ll count it as a win. 

Okay, pause. Regroup. Does he even own a suit that fits? Crap, he hopes so. He doesn’t have the money to go buy a new suit. Wait, that’s not the important thing. She said yes? She said yes. And Peter needs to figure out what to say to her because otherwise he’s going to screw this up like he always does because he just isn’t...enough and...and... and isn’t this the exact kind of thinking that led to him screwing everything up? Food for thought. 

First, he really should clean the apartment. Mary Jane always had this thing about ‘cluttered house, cluttered mind’ and he could really do with a non-cluttered mind right now. And once he gets about actually putting everything back into place and picking up the trash, it’s good to have something to focus on that doesn’t take much effort. Most of what’s lying about is trash anyways. Nothing hard about chucking things in a plastic bag. He even puts on sneakers and trots down to the nearest convenience store for some rudimentary cleaning supplies. 

He sets about to fixing his life, one Swiffer Sweeper at a time. Maybe nothing is a big step, but it’ll build something eventually. Like little tiny stitches. Done by hand. 

 

* * *

 

Days pass. He heals. Saturday comes.

Peter stands on the sidewalk in front of the familiar house, and hopes the suit doesn’t look too tight. It’s actually not bad. He always bought a size up because of the other suit underneath so now…

Focus. He has everything, right? A suit, a shave, and a bouquet in one hand. Now he just needs the nerve to ring the doorbell. 

Funny. None of this would be happening if he hadn’t been sucked into an alternate dimension. Is he supposed to be thankful that hellish experience happened? 

Well, yeah. It sucked, but he just has to be remember Gwen’s grin or the warmth of Miles’ hug and everything pretty much evens out.

Who the hell is he kidding? He’s glad it happened. And if those kids start popping in and out of interdimensional portals to bother him all the time? He’ll just have to start keeping more snacks in his newly-organized cupboards because teenagers have to fed, right? 

Right. Okay, no more stalling.

His fingers move on automatic to shoot some web towards the doorbell, because some habits are hard to shake off and maybe he kept  _ one _ web slinger on. He clenches the flowers a little bit tighter. A second passes. Two seconds. Three. Four. Man, his palms are sweaty.

The door opens. MJ looks out, and she’s  _ his _ MJ this time, and her eyes go fond as she sees him standing there, waiting. Really here. Like he promised. Her face is softer than the other MJ’s, older, with laughter lines and more freckles and she’s so beautiful he can’t believe it.

There’s no guarantee this is going to work out. But that doesn’t mean he can just give up. It means working a little harder. Get back up, Spiderman. Get back up, Peter B. Parker. You always get back up. It’s your best and worst quality. 

Peter smiles, steps forward—

—and takes a leap of faith. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading~


End file.
